An Officer And A Gentle Man
by Myopiar
Summary: While James Norrington faces the possibly worst losses of his life, Elizabeth Swann needs to learn that every cause has its consequences. Set after Curse of the Black Pearl in AU to the other movies.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

 _In that book which is | My memory_  
 _On the first page | That is the chapter when_  
 _I first met you | Appear the words_  
 _Here begins a new life._

 _DANTE_

* * *

It is a frequently repeated cliché that all men are terrified of women in one way or another, but in case of seafaring men it was quite simply true. Perhaps because they saw so little of women due to their profession, they shrank away in horror even from a little girl; the vast majority of them were superstitious to the bone and protested the presence of females on board with a fervour that might otherwise have been reserved for pay cuts or making berth in leper colonies.

" _Baaad_ luck to have a woman on board!"

The young First Lieutenant of the HMS Dauntless and her acting commander at present, an educated aristocrat himself, could but shake his head about his sailors' irrationality. They were ready to doubt _him_ when he told them the time of day, but would believe at once that any female entering as much as a rudder boat would invariably cause that rudder boat to sink. Well, at least in regard to his own lack of clout, he wasn't much surprised. Two years ago he had still been a common lieutenant, one among many, five years ago he had just graduated from Mariner's College and never seen more of the world than Portsmouth, London and that rural part of Wessex where his family lived. But one must grow with one's tasks, as his old governess Miss McKendell would have pointed out in that sour tone of hers. – He smiled to himself when thinking of old Miss McKendell, an old spinster if there ever was one. Whenever he was struggling, whenever he was certain he would fail, he heard her stern voice with that peculiar Scottish accent snapping at him to try harder, be better, and 'bloody hell do as you ought to, boy!'

And that was what he was doing; he had no other choice anyway. Captain Craddock wouldn't captain the Dauntless if his life depended on it, which was ironic as his life _did_ depend upon some capable sailor doing exactly that, and not only his life but the lives of more than eight hundred and fifty seamen and officers, one Governor-to-be and two children. So the task had befallen his First Lieutenant, with an entire set of other officers – his junior in rank, his considerable senior in age – seemingly just waiting for him to make a mistake. He wondered what they were thinking, really. Because if he were to make such a gaffe as they appeared to hope for, it could well take them all to the bottom of the ocean.

He had never been in charge of a ship before, and the Dauntless wasn't just any ship, she was a first-rate ship of the line and as such not easy to handle due to her sheer bulk; some hundred men needed to be meticulously coordinated for everything to work as it should and they weren't always inclined to listen to a 'boy still wet behind the ears', as the First Mate had put it. So the Lieutenant did it 'by the book' – what else was he after all supposed to do? He had always been the bookish type and read all there was to know about seafaring, about every type of ship, every possible manoeuvre and about navigation. None of his books had prepared him though to be a leader of men and he sometimes thought he had the natural authority of garden produce. He helped himself with a passable imitation of one of his teachers in College and his old governess (without putting on the accent, of course!), blending cold civility with strictness und unflappability, no matter what was thrown at him. More often than not, it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

"Shoo! Shoo!" one of the senior Able Seamen croaked and waggled his hands at the little girl in question who was just now inspecting the anchor gear. "Get away from there. You'll jinx it!"

"Leave her alone _at once_ , Mr. Gibbs," the Lieutenant snarled and stepped between them.

" _Baaad_ luck to have a female on board, sir. The sea's a woman and she's jealous of other women!"

"If you let go of your superstitious fears, you'd be much more fitted for civil obedience, Mr. Gibbs. And if you stopped drinking, you might even notice that this 'woman' is a mere child."

" _Bad_ luck to have a woman aboard, sir," Mr. Gibbs repeated, as always when he came across little Miss Swann. "Bad luck if you'll ask me."

"Which I _don't_ , fortunately. Now _leave her alone_ , you scare her much more than vice versa."

The sailor shot him a dark scowl. Yes, he had as much authority as garden produce, the Lieutenant thought and scowled right back, and not of the stout radish variety, but rather in the regions of parsley.

Incidentally, he had not hit the nail on the head with his assessment. Little Miss Swann, the ten-year-old daughter of the freshly appointed Governor Swann, was as fearless as only ten-year-old girls of a certain standing and over-indulgent upbringing could possibly be. Her father had been assigned a position in some village twelve hundred miles south-east of Nassau. With him, a small fleet was supposed to establish another outpost of the British Empire; a futile venture, some jibed, because why make the effort and civilise some godforsaken hamlet whose inhabitants had probably never heard the king's name and could not care less if they were to be told? Because, the Lieutenant would answer to these sceptics, the world was but chaos, which could only be remedied by the Commonwealth; it was about time for the Age of Enlightenment, even if one had to drag some people into it kicking and screaming.

The girl had by now been joined by her similarly little companion, a pitiable boy of eleven whom they had fished right out of the ocean after the ship on which he had sailed had been attacked by pirates. Following a brief, whispered debate (which had mainly consisted of the girl telling the boy what to do and some half-hearted protests on his part, the two children now raced past the lieutenant, or rather – little Miss Swann was running, one hand hitching up her skirts, the other clenched around young William Turner's wrist and dragging the poor boy along. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she cried brightly and proceeded. "Say good morning, Will!"

"Good morning, sir," the boy muttered meekly, attempting a courteous bow while the girl pulled him on.

"You're welcome, Miss Swann – young Master Turner," the Lieutenant replied, stifling a smile. He had a soft spot for the Governor's wild little daughter, maybe because she was so much unlike anyone he'd ever met. She was bright, cheeky, and frequently forgot her manners; on the one hand, she was all dolls and petticoats and girlishness, on the other she was as churlish as any street urchin and insisted on clambering about the ship, the masts and rails like a little monkey, no matter how often her father told her not to, or pulled little pranks on the sailors.

Then again, perhaps all little girls were like this? The lieutenant simply lacked any kind of experience with members of the fair sex, regardless of their age, if one discounted Miss McKendell. He had only brothers, his boarding school and the Mariner's College had conspicuously lacked females, too, and as an officer of His Majesty, one could pass years and years without coming across a single specimen of the fair sex, no matter what age. Boys were easy; he had a long – and painful – experience with boys, but girls were a perpetual mystery if little Miss Swann was any rule to go by.

"We are going to catch and tame an albatross," she explained over her shoulder.

"Good luck with that. They're not easily caught."

"Oh, we'll manage! Won't we, Will?"

The boy's face belied his answer. "Yes…"

Indeed, Will wasn't convinced that his new friend's latest scheme would work out (none of her schemes ever really did), but he didn't have it in him to disagree with anything she said. He regarded her to be his guardian angel – after that terrible incident, hers had been the first face he had spotted when regaining consciousness. For some minutes, he had thought he was dead and she was an angel, a real one – he had never seen anyone so pretty, so elegant, so kindly smiling – and ever since, she coddled over him, trying to keep him out of trouble, but more often than not being the origin of trouble herself, like now.

He was deadly scared of pretty much everything on board. After his mother had died, he had used the little money she had left him to purchase a passage to Kingston in order to find his father, who was a sailor. What else could he have done? The money hadn't been nearly enough (in fact, it had only gotten him as far as London, where his last pennies were stolen ten minutes after he had clambered out of the carriage taking him there), so he had hired as a dogsbody on a merchant vessel, where he had been treated with careless contempt at its best, but still he had felt more at ease than here, on the Dauntless. Governor Swann and his daughter were very noble people; he hadn't got a clue how to behave around either of them. Then there was Mr Gibbs, who was just spooky with all his weird tales of ghosts and sea monsters and other horrors. And above all, there was Lieutenant Norrington, the most intimidating of the lot by a long way.

Will's prevailing sentiments concerning the Lieutenant were fear and admiration. First and foremost, he was awed. The Lieutenant was _very_ young still – Will had overheard some of the sailors saying that he was only three-and-twenty – but already in charge of one of His Majesty's flagships, because the actual captain simply refused leaving his cabin. During the entire passage, Will had seen him only two or three times on deck – he was old, he was sickly, but most of all, he was perennially drunk (again, Will relied on the sailors' gossip) and appeared to have happily delegated the task of captaining the ship to his juvenile First Lieutenant.

Everybody aboard, even the officers who were more than twice as old, had the highest opinion of the Lieutenant, everybody praised his abilities as a sailor, as a swordsman, as an overall gentleman. Yet despite all that praise, nobody seemed to be very fond of him, and Will thought he could see why.

Lieutenant Norrington was as superior as the Swanns – more, perhaps, because his father was said to be a marquis – but he had no share of the Governor's avuncular benignity, or Miss Swann's lively ease. Will had not once seen him lose his poise or do as much as crack a genuine smile. He always kept his perfect composure – calm, tall, straight, stiff, his face earnest, ordering the other officers around in a tone as polite as it was sharp.

Once, Will had summoned all his courage to ask Mr. Gibbs, the most talkative of the seamen, about the Lieutenant, or rather, why nobody appeared to like him much even though everyone kept on saying how brilliant he was.

Mr. Gibbs had looked around to make sure nobody overheard them, and replied, "It's not the Lieutenant's fault, son. Many a man doesn't fancy being ordered around by a mere boy, no matter how much merits he got. And then..." He looked over his shoulder once more. "He's too clever by half, the Lieutenant is. People don't like that. Makes 'em suspicious, see?"

Yes, Will did see indeed. Because whenever the Lieutenant cast him a side-glance, it was one of mild amusement mingled with – well, he couldn't really say what it was exactly, only that it frightened him. Was it mistrust, perhaps?

In fact, Will mistook the Lieutenant completely in this respect. Those measuring glances he sometimes noticed – and dreaded – were no signs of suspicion, but vague curiosity. Lieutenant Norrington had soon realised that the boy had a kind of natural perceptiveness of the sea, which was astounding for a child of that age who had spent ten and a half of his eleven years firmly grounded on solid English earth. He'd make a fine sailor one day – but then again, after having survived shipwreck once, he wasn't likely to try his luck again, was he?

By the way – it wasn't true that _no one_ liked the young Lieutenant. The Governor had taken quite a shine to him, perhaps because he was the only real gentleman on board, and so had his little daughter, although in case of the latter, her sympathy expressed itself in a kind of friendly antagonism. She simply delighted in trying to tease the young man, straining to get a rise out of him and egged on by her complete lack of success so far.

"Lieutenant Norrington!" she cried one afternoon, having escaped her father's care and with her usual sidekick in tow. She spoke in her typical manner, girlish with a fringe of playful cheek. "Lieutenant Norrington?"

"Can I be of assistance to you, Miss Swann?"

"I've got a question, Lieutenant Norrington."

"Ask away, Miss Swann."

"Why aren't you wearing a wig?"

"But you know that, Miss Swann. It went overboard during that big storm last October."

"Yes, of course I know _that_. But why don't you get a new one?"

"Because wigs aren't that easy to come by on a ship."

"You could order one of the other officers to give you his. You're their boss, aren't you?"

"But wouldn't that be ignominious, taking another man's wig only because I was so careless as to lose my own?"

She thought about that answer with her tongue in cheek, then went on, "We could make a stop somewhere and get you one, surely!"

"And retard your journey only to satisfy my vanity?" he asked, pretending to be scandalised. "Surely _not_ , Miss Swann!"

Getting nowhere with that line of reasoning, she changed her strategy. "It really was _very_ careless of you to lose it in the first place, Lieutenant Norrington."

Young William blushed to his ears and tried to shush her, but she shook him off and smiled boldly.

"Very true, Miss Swann," the Lieutenant answered and took a little bow to conceal that he was trying hard not to laugh. "All I can say in my defence is that during a storm, one sometimes struggles with one's priorities."

She nodded wisely. "That's why my Papa orders me to stay below deck when there's a storm. He says it's dangerous."

"It is and you do well to obey your father."

"Shame though, I should like to see how it's like. Anyway – why don't _you_ just stay below deck, too, if it's so dangerous?"

"Somebody has to stay aloft and steer the ship, Miss Swann."

"But if it's dangerous?"

" _Especially_ if it's dangerous. That is my job, you see?"

She tilted her head and contemplated his answer. Then, apropos of nothing, she asked, "Do you have a first name, Lieutenant Norrington?"

The boy beside her was squirming with what he perceived as an impertinence, but struck the young man as quite hilarious. "What do _you_ think, Miss Swann?"

"I _think_ you have a first name. Everybody has."

"Precisely."

"So? Aren't you going to tell me what it is?"

He had to bite his lip not to smile. "It is 'James', Miss Swann."

"Can I call you James then?"

"I don't think your father would be happy if you did that, Miss Swann."

"Oh, I don't think he minds. You're his friend, after all. Which makes you my friend, too. All my friends call me Elizabeth. I wouldn't mind you call me Elizabeth either, you know?"

"I tell you what, Miss Swann – why don't you start with your friend Mr. Turner here? I have yet to hear _him_ addressing you by your first name. I on the other hand am an officer of His Majesty and must therefore stick to the proper decorum, whether I like it or not."

Elizabeth stuck out her bottom lip and went away, sulking. With Will, she had been as little successful as with _James_ (she was determined to call him so regardless). She called her new friend by his Christian name, too – but no amount of coaxing or threats could make him return that familiarity, he'd call her 'Miss Swann', no matter what.

That evening at dinner – which was funny as always, because after taking his seat at the head of the table, Captain Craddock had dozed off until his wig had dropped onto his plate – Elizabeth summoned all her bravado and addressed the Lieutenant, "Could you please pass me the bread, James?"

Her father swallowed his bite the wrong way and coughed, but the Lieutenant's only reaction was a subtle smile. "Of course, Miss Swann. Would you care for the butter as well?"

She was disappointed. She had believed she could pique him, but he looked as serenely cool as ever and handed her the bread basket as if nothing had happened.

Her father had caught his breath again and reprimanded her, "Elizabeth! Address the Lieutenant with his proper title, please! – I am deeply sorry, Lieutenant!"

"You needn't be, sir, I assure you."

"And also, we're friends, Papa!"

"Please, child, don't pester the Lieutenant."

"Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Governor, but your daughter is far from pestering me in any small way. Frankly, I think her outspokenness is quite amusing."

"You are kind, Lieutenant. You see, it's a mother missing here…"

The two men conversed politely, and Elizabeth went back to sullen silence. She disliked it when the adults were acting as if she wasn't around, she equally begrudged _James_ for not reacting to her little joke, and she was habitually scandalised that her father wouldn't invite poor William around, who was compelled to eat with the crew.

But maybe it was for the better. The Lieutenant and Will had better not spend too much time together. She had once heard Lieutenant Norrington swear that he'd see to it that every pirate got what he deserved – the noose, that was! – and she was very much afraid that dear William was a pirate after all. She had found a pirate medallion around his neck after he had been fished out of the ocean and never dared to question him about it. Technically, he didn't even know that she had taken it from him while he had been unconscious. She hadn't stolen it though! She had done it for his own good, really! Because she wanted to protect him! She suspected that James – ha! – wouldn't turn rhetoric into action by incarcerating an eleven-year-old boy, let alone having him executed (he tried not to let it show, but she could tell that underneath all the austereness, he was essentially very nice). What she did _not_ know, however, was if it was even in his power to grant clemency, because he wasn't the real captain of the ship, because his loyalty was with the Crown and he had to obey the laws…

She had asked him about it – in a roundabout way, of course, making _absolutely_ _sure_ to cast no suspicion on poor Will – by inventing a wild story in which she herself (through no fault of her own, of course!) ended up as a pirate and he'd have to catch her.

He had raised his brows mockingly. "I had no idea you had any intentions of becoming a pirate, Miss Swann."

"I don't! I'm just asking what _if_."

"And I am just advising you not to do as much as think of it."

"But I am _not_ thinking of it. I'm merely asking if you would hunt and hang me, too."

He contemplated her earnestly, wondering whether he should just give in because she so obviously wanted to hear that he would of course make an exception for _her_ , or whether this was the time for a little pep talk about the Law, and that the Law did after all apply to _everyone_. He was fond of the Governor, but also saw quite clearly that the man was thoroughly incapable to teach his child anything more meaningful than which fork to use for the first course, so he chose the latter option.

"Miss Swann," he patiently began, "I do suspect that I know why you ask me this."

"You do?!"

"I think I do, yes. However, I can only explain to you that it wouldn't even be up to me to decide. I do not hang a man because I wanted to, but because there is such a thing as the law, and I am its servant. The law constitutes what is right and what is wrong, and it also determines what is to happen to a person violating its rules."

"But what if the law itself is wrong!"

He smiled. "You're in luck there, Miss Swann, because our English laws are among the finest in the world. Of course, they're not _perfect_ , and I may personally not agree with a certain rule, but I have to enforce it anyway, because without the law, there is nothing, no industry, no culture, no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death, and the life of man solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."

She stared at him, perfectly horrified, and he tried anew. "Do you remember the Golden Rule, Miss Swann?"

She nodded with wide eyes. "You said it's that no one ought to do to others what they wouldn't want done to themselves..."

Encouragingly, he nodded, too. "Quite right. That Golden Rule is the root of all our laws, you see? Now I'm sure you remember the burning ship that your friend Mr. Turner escaped from by the skin of his teeth. Would you say you should have liked to have been aboard that ship?"

She breathlessly shook her head.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because it was attacked by pirates..."

"Exactly. You wouldn't want to be attacked by pirates, so you can conclude by means of the Golden Rule that pirating is wrong, can't you?"

"Yes..." she admitted despite herself.

"Now let us say that you wished to excuse one of those pirates, who almost got your little friend killed –"

"I wouldn't!"

"So let me put it another way. You asked me if I would pursue _you_ if you were a pirate, so for the sake of the example let us assume for a minute that you had been one of these pirates, and _I_ would really like to make an exception for you. Yes?"

"Yes," she breathed, hanging on his lips.

"Now that I have excused _you_ , one of the other pirates demands the same. A fair request, because since I have made an exception for you, why should I not grant him the same privilege? How would you feel about that?"

She opened her mouth for a reply, thought again, and finally muttered, "I don't know..."

"Do you see now that the law must apply to _everybody_ , and that you cannot make exceptions just because you like, because once you start making exceptions, you cannot just stop when you like; it's a downward slope without end, and soon there would be no more law at all to follow, and everybody could do as they please, for example by attacking innocent people like your friend Mr. Turner, and we could not even punish them for it?"

"So you _would_ hang me?" she whimpered, her hazel eyes wide open.

Resignedly, he gave up his attempts of employing the Socratic Method and wryly patted her head instead. "No, Miss Swann," he sighed, "I would _not_. Little girls aren't hanged by any law, you know."

And that evening at supper, he gave her a book with the exciting title _Leviathan_ , but try as she might, there were no sea monsters in it.

* * *

 _Author's Notes:_

This is a rewriting of a very old story which was called 'Too Good To Be True'; unfortunately I can no longer access that old account, so there you go.

Parts of Lieutenant Norrington's thoughts on the Commonwealth and superstition are inspired by Thomas Hobbes' _Leviathan_.


	2. The Departure of the Dauntless

**The Departure of the Dauntless**

* * *

 _So that every Crime is a sin; but not every sin a Crime._

THOMAS HOBBES

* * *

It was a startlingly bright morning in Port Royal like any other in the Caribbean. The sun was blazing down with might, and a slight breeze hardly worth the name managed no more than gently sway the frailest of leaves. As feverish as the sun was the mood of Elizabeth Swann, who, finding herself at the breakfast table next to her father, declared herself to be the happiest creature on earth.

"Some more coffee, Miss?" asked Scott, their old butler.

Governor Swann privately thought that the last thing his daughter needed was a stimulant, but the young woman put on a yet more exultant smile.

"Yes, please!"

Her father arched a brow and beckoned at the servant. "Perhaps, Scott, you may mingle the coffee with a little water...?"

"You'll do no such thing, Scott!" Elizabeth cried and halted the butler by grabbing his arm.

No, Governor Swann thought, definitely no more coffee. "My dear," he gently rebuffed her, "you're already in very high spirits."

"And why shouldn't I be!"

She waved at Scott in an encouraging manner to pour her some more. She hadn't been sleeping the previous night due to her excitement, and only the wish to mollify her father had made her get up so early in the morning. Scott, undecided whom he was supposed to obey, stopped hesitatingly, but Governor Swann had never been able to withstand his daughter anyway, so he nodded at last, and Scott followed his mistress' wish.

"Darling," the Governor began anew, "I had rather hoped you might have had second thoughts since last night. I can easily imagine how you got carried away by yesterday's events, but _seriously_ –"

She smiled sweetly. " _Seriously_ I'm quite determined to have no second thoughts whatsoever, Papa."

"My dear child, as you well know there's nothing more important to me than seeing you happy. If you hadn't fled from the Dauntless that night, you would have heard me counsel you to undo your engagement to the Commodore if you had committed yourself for the wrong reasons. Which you obviously had. You see, I'm not unreasonable. But I beg you, _please_ consider your future! That boy that you intend to marry, he – I won't mention that he is a _blacksmith_ – he cannot _afford_ to marry you within the next five, perhaps eight or ten years!"

Elizabeth had scarcely listened to her father (she rarely did) but she had overheard his last words, and replied the tiniest bit less cheerfully, "Yes, I know that."

"And yet you are willing to commit yourself to an engagement of such uncertainty?"

"Well, it cannot be helped, can it? I want Will, and if I have to wait a hundred years for him!"

"All I ask for is that you contemplate the extent of such hardship –"

"I've waited for _eight years_ already, Papa, I think I will be able to wait some more, now that I know that he is as fond of me as I have always been of him!"

"If those eight years appeared long to you, think how long the next eight are going to be, my dear."

She rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. Her father clearly felt uncomfortable to have such conversation in front of the servants and sent them away before continuing urgently, "You are still very young, Elizabeth, only eighteen. You've never met many men of your class and age, and I think it quite natural that you should be endeared to young Mr. Turner. After all, he _is_ your age, and you're bound to him by a long lasting – well, friendship I guess. You cannot accuse me of being illiberal, can you? Did I ever object you from a friendly intercourse with the boy?"

Elizabeth wasn't inclined to quarrel with her father just now, and after all, it was true. He hadn't _objected_ to her seeing Will, or talking to him. But this wasn't owed to his liberalism. It simply hadn't crossed his mind, _ever_ , that she could have any interest in the _boy_. She liked her father a lot, but he was a snob. To him, Will had never been more than Sarah, her chamber maid, or Scott, their old butler, and prohibiting her from speaking to Will would have seemed just as absurd as keeping her from talking to the servants.

"No, you were very kind, father," was her good-humoured reply.

Governor Swann plucked up courage. "I only wish you to see a bit more of the world before binding yourself, that is all, Elizabeth –"

"You didn't want me to see more of the world when wanting me to marry the Commodore, Papa."

"I didn't _want_ you to marry the Commodore –"

She cast him a mocking smirk. "You could have fooled me there."

"He _is_ a very worthy suitor, my dear, and very fond of you as well –"

She didn't like the turn the conversation was taking and went back to tease him. "Oh, so you didn't send me away to do _him_ a favour."

"Please, Elizabeth, nobody means to send you away! My dear child, how could you even _think_ I... All I meant to say is that it is a pity that you have seen so little. And you're not going to once you're married to young Mr. Turner. Whereas the Commodore –"

"Would have dragged me all over the globe in His Majesty's Service?"

He didn't rise to the bait. "I suppose you aren't inclined to go to England for a little while? After all, your engagement will be long, and you could use the time to –"

"You want to keep me away from Will?!"

"I don't want to keep you away from Mr. Turner, my dear. That is _not_ what I was going to propose. All I thought was that it could be nice for you to go there once more. When you are married, you won't have another opportunity, so why not seize the time? Five to eight years is a very long time, if it is enough for him to establish himself, and you'd only be in his way."

"Oh, I don't think he minds me being in the way, Papa."

They passed a whole hour in this fashion, going back and forth, with the Governor wishing his daughter to listen to sense, and Elizabeth even more determined to not listen to a single thing he said. He gave up at last; he had an appointment with Commodore Norrington. Along with his ship, the Dauntless, this fine man – who until yesterday had been no less than the Governor's future son-in-law – was to depart by eleven o'clock in order to pursue and capture Jack Sparrow, the Captain of the Black Pearl, in whose escape the day before the Governor's own daughter had played no little part.

The old gentleman sighed, contemplating the very unpleasant duty ahead of him. He shuddered to face the Commodore, but his uneasiness was nothing compared to his daughter's feelings on the same subject. Having a reputation for being unguarded and thoughtless, few people would have imputed on her the acute sense of shame she was experiencing, yet here she was, and not even her elation to have captured the young man of her dreams could quite blot out the nagging contrition.

"Do I really have to go?" she asked plaintively.

"As a matter of fact, I don't think you _should_ go, child! It might be considered quite improper after all –"

If he had thought that pointing out the unseemliness would detain his daughter, he had another think coming. Elizabeth didn't _want_ to go, she really, really didn't – but suddenly she thought that it would be a cowardly thing to do and would make her look like one who thought she had done wrong. And while she privately felt exactly that, she thought that nobody else must think so, and steeled herself to accompany her father after all.

Oh yes, she knew she had done wrong, very wrong indeed, and was ill-equipped to handle that knowledge.

Commodore James Norrington, a man of thirty-one years and rather austere by nature, had been in love with her for a long time, as she had known all too well. Him she knew even longer than Will, as he had been an officer on the ship taking her and her father from England; he had seen her grow up, and had never been anything but kind and attentive to her. 'He is a _fine_ man', she had often told herself, and everybody else had said so as well – nobody could righteously speak of him any differently.

Yes indeed, he _was_ a fine man, and a smart match; the younger son of Lord Alfred Norrington, the Marquis of Crawley, had earned his merits in the Royal Navy, made a considerable fortune himself, and possessed just about any conceivable virtue. He was a decent man, utmost honourable, brilliant, courageous, modest and patient – in fact he was such a fine fellow that he couldn't have been any more boring in Elizabeth's eyes. He was friendliness itself towards her, the epitome of reliability, responsibility and steadiness, an authority for his officers, and she knew well that any number of girls in Port Royal would have sacrificed their first-born to receive an offer of marriage from him.

Smart as he may ever be, he hadn't chosen wisely when picking a bride, however, because Elizabeth hadn't been among those girls. When one grew up as the Governor's daughter in a place like Port Royal, there wasn't much to be done, so she had devoted her time to reading all sorts of books, and next to stories about pirates, she had read all the great romances. This had possibly not been the sort of lecture suitable for a young lady, but given her a strong sense as to what was important in forming engagements, and instructed her that her feelings for the Commodore weren't the _proper_ ones a young lady should entertain when accepting a proposal.

She _liked_ the Commodore. She liked him _a lot_ , she had the highest regard for him, but he had never incensed the same flames in her as Will Turner had single-handedly done, without even knowing it, in the past three or four years. Will Turner – oh, what a man was Will Turner? Could there be words to describe such a marvel? Could there be words to describe her elation? Her ardent love for him? Certainly not, she had spent the whole night tossing and turning in her bed incapable of grasping her own good fortune. He had told her that he loved her! He had _kissed_ her! He had asked her to be his for good!

Never in her life had she felt such excitement, and poor Sarah had done all she could think of to calm her mistress down to sleep, but no hot milk, no chocolate could have done the job that night.

Well, excitement such as this took its toll, and she was quite exhausted when entering the carriage to drive to the harbour. But no, no, she had to go and say goodbye. It was the only proper thing to do. She owed the Commodore that much, and thinking about it, she also owed him some apologies.

But what should she say? What could possibly reconcile him? Wasn't it far more likely that he should hate to see her, after being slighted in such fashion? In front of the entire town? And all his officers, too? She flinched with the mere recollection.

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...

They alighted from the carriage; in the bare sunlight, Elizabeth felt even number, and it wasn't getting any better. There he was, her erstwhile fiancé, and if she wasn't mistaken, he looked a little pale around the nose. Paler than usual, even. And not entirely pleased to see her either. Well, what had she expected, really.

With a slightly pained expression, he bowed to her father. "Good morning, Governor Swann." He turned to her, taking another bow. "Good morning, Miss Swann."

She curtseyed. "Good morning, Commodore –"

Luckily her father, apparently unaware of his daughter's awkwardness, saved her for the moment by crying cheerfully, "I see you are ready to set sails, Commodore. I shall hope that you're not to stay away for too long?"

"I can hardly say, sir," was the measured reply. "We shall not return to Port Royal before fulfilling our mission, and as we've seen, Captain Sparrow is a shrewd fellow."

"Well, when you hang him, make sure to do it elsewhere – he's too lucky in Port Royal!"

The Governor was neither coarse nor callous, and didn't possess an ounce of natural humour; the shocking remark causing his daughter to reel in guilt-ridden horror was given innocently enough. _He_ merely meant that Captain Sparrow's hanging had been scheduled twice, and both times the hangman had been urged out of his fees. That both times his daughter had been somewhat at the root of the difficulties didn't seem to occur to the poor man for one second. All the fresher were the memories in _her_ mind.

The Commodore appeared to think along similar lines as she, for he retorted in clipped tones, "Indeed, sir. He clearly has too many friends here, but I'm not afraid that he will be brought to justice in the end."

Regardless of her own guilty conscience in regard to the Commodore, Elizabeth couldn't stop herself. from nsapping,"To the gallows, you mean!"

It was the beginning and the end of a debate that had taken place a dozen times or so during their engagement; Elizabeth strongly objected to Jack Sparrow's execution while Commodore Norrington found it his job to doggedly pursue exactly that aim, regardless of the fact that he didn't much like the idea either. The governor had grown weary of the subject, too, so he cast his eyes to the heavens and slowly sauntered away to inspect the Dauntless instead.

Commodore Norrington's expression remained blank when he bowed slightly. "I am a mere servant of the law and as such it is my responsibility to see to it that it is obeyed, Miss Swann."

Yes, yes, alright. Elizabeth wouldn't go into that particular argument again, not today, even if it was probably her last chance to ever do so. Taking a deep breath, she plucked up all her courage and muttered, "Please, James – Commodore, I mean – let us not argue. I... Now that we are among ourselves, I should like a word..."

"Anytime," was the reply, but he didn't look at her, and her heart was sinking.

"Commodore Norrington," she began quietly, "I wish to explain to you – you must know why I… You see, I have the highest regard for you, I really have, and I want you to know that I received your – offers – with all the gratitude that could be felt by any –"

"Miss Swann," he cut her short, still avoiding her gaze by looking at some point above her right shoulder. "You need not explain yourself. You are free to do whatever you think right for yourself."

Squirming on the inside, she replied, "I cannot but thank you for that, sir. Please, you must know that I never meant to hurt you –"

He lifted his hand to stop her and finally did look into her face with a strained little smile. "Really, Miss Swann, let us talk of this no more."

"But I want you to know –"

"Believe me, I do know."

"No, you don't! You see, I don't deserve your affection and –"

Squeezing his eyes shut for a second or two, he interrupted her once more, "Oh, but you do, and I wish you all the best. I really do."

Oh, why, _why_ couldn't he be mad with her? It'd be so much easier if only the man wasn't so bloody kind!

"But –"

" _Please_ , Miss Swann," he said, looking like a man with a severe headache, "believe me when I tell you that – while I will always be as fond of you as our long acquaintance warrants – you need not be afraid to have caused any lasting damages. I am sure I will rally. After all, it could have come worse, couldn't it?"

She frowned and narrowed her eyes, unsure whether she could dare to say yes, even if it was clearly a rhetorical question. "Could it...?"

He smirked wryly. "Of course. You could have abandoned me in front of the altar."

She gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth, one part of her shocked, the other wanting to crack up laughing.

His smile turned gentle. "Or, in the very worst case, you could have married me after all, leaving us both wretched. Because believe it or not, I think I deserve to marry a woman who actually wants to marry me as well."

She was stumped and opened and closed her mouth for an answer a few times, but none would come. Left alone with both ends of the conversation, he proceeded in conciliatory tones, "I know that today's departure, or rather say its declared aim of finding Mr. Sparrow doesn't please you. I hope in time you can forgive me, but I _do_ serve the crown, and cannot neglect my duties. Jack Sparrow is a pirate, and it is my job to capture him."

"I know that, Commodore," she answered weakly. "You and he both saved my life, so my prayers must be that you return soon without success, but healthy and sound."

"That is a contradiction in terms, Miss Swann, for we _cannot_ return before having fulfilled our mission."

"Oh, you know what I mean."

He shook his head, smiling. "I never quite understood why you care for him so much. Having saved your life, he instantly progressed to threaten it."

"Ah, but that was just for show. You know how he took Nassau without firing a single shot."

"Yes, but I have yet to hear how many young ladies he threatened to throttle in the process."

He smiled and she chuckled. "Underneath all the – well, you _know_ – he is a good man."

"And a pirate."

"And that."

"The law is for everybody, Miss Swann. Not every criminal is automatically what you call a bad person. And not every bad person is automatically a criminal. The law does not look at the man but at his deeds. And while his sacking Nassau may not have been strictly the work of a pirate, it was inarguably daylight robbery."

"Ah, he _is_ a pirate in my books, without doubt. In fact I'd say he is a pirate like the books write about – or rather say, his spirit is, if not his manner."

"There is a wide gap between your books and the reality at sea. Because believe you me, Jack Sparrow is one of a kind. The usual pirate is much more in the way of the more unpleasant members of Captain Barbossa's crew."

Glad to maintain the lighter mood, Elizabeth replied archly, "As I had to find out at my own expense, yes... All these darned, misleading novels! Perhaps one ought to write a book about the good captain then. But I should hurry, as I must assume that you shall find him very soon."

"No need for haste, Miss Swann, you may still manage the full three volumes. After sinking the Interceptor to the bottom of the sea, Mr. Sparrow has any chance to flee us. The Dauntless is strong and nigh invincible, but she is comparably slow. Considering that Sparrow is a man of cunning, I expect him to have mended his sails, rendering the Black Pearl one of the fastest ships in these waters."

"So you have no hope of a speedy return?"

The smile disappeared and he avoided looking at her once again "No, I haven't, but don't let that worry you. Port Royal will be in the safe hands of my deputy, Captain Stansfield, and I assure you, he is a man of merit and skills. You will hardly notice our absence."

She lowered her gaze, blushing and sighing. "I cannot imagine that, Commodore. An old friend like you cannot be replaced by another, merit or not."

He opened his mouth, but shut it in the next moment and shrugged. She knew what he had been about to say, and thanked him silently for his tact. She had already replaced him once – how should he believe that she wouldn't do so again?

"Captain Stansfield is an excellent soldier, and just as famous for his pleasant manners, Miss Swann. I think you should give him a chance to prove them."

"I did not mean to be unjust to the Captain; we shall welcome him with all due kindness. All I meant was that he cannot replace _you_ in our midst. Return safely, Commodore Norrington!"


	3. The Deputy

**The Deputy**

* * *

 _A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman – fram'd in the prodigality of nature, young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal – the spacious world cannot again afford._

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

* * *

Although Governor Swann was not amused, he could hardly forbid his daughter to see her fiancé. He winced with the sheer sight of the young man, whom he had always valued as a skilful craftsman, a decent person and a pitiable orphan just as well. In _these_ respects, Will Turner was as fine a young man as any and would have been welcome to the Governor's household (in the servants' quarters). But his being his beloved daughter's _fiancé_ was quite a different story; every feeling revolved, and the old gentleman could find only one acceptable aspect in it – Elizabeth was quite over the moon.

Governor Swann hadn't married early in life; he had already been thirty-five when wooing his much younger bride Mary. This one had given birth to Elizabeth two years later and died in childbirth, grieving her husband beyond expression. He hadn't married a second time, would never have done so much as consider it; there could be no other woman in the world comparable to his dear, dead wife. Consequently, he had bestowed all his affections on his daughter who was an image of her dead mother; he had been patient and indulgent, finding the poor girl already punished to grow up without a mother.

Perhaps, he thought now, he had been a little _too_ indulgent, too lazy in giving her principles, too old to be a proper guide. Something must have gone terribly wrong; he had no other explanation for her recent conduct, but was also far from blaming _her_. His affection and sweet temper wouldn't allow him to see any fault in his daughter, so he found it in himself, and maybe rightfully so. He was most unhappy with the situation on the whole, but had not yet resigned himself to the inevitable.

"My dearest child," he said, smiled and sipped his wine at supper. "I hope you have not forgotten in all your excitement that we are to welcome Captain Stansfield tomorrow?"

"Of course not, Papa. And I shall be glad to welcome him accordingly, as long as you do not force me into another corset."

"Will you ever stop mocking me for this thing, Elizabeth? When I bought the dress, I was told that it was the latest fashion in London. I'm no expert in this field, and I found it very pretty. Besides, your friend Mr. Sparrow ripped it apart, and I promise to buy no other."

"That should increase my life expectancy in no small way. Just imagine how healthy I will be without constantly fainting, falling off cliffs, or suffocating?"

He laughed and shook his head. "I've heard so much about the Captain – let us hope that he isn't disappointed with Port Royal, after harbouring in Nassau for so long."

 _Everybody_ had heard _so much_ about Captain Stansfield. Things that lived underneath rocks must have heard of him. In some ways he was more famous than even Commodore Norrington for killing one of the most notorious pirates in this part of world.

Two years earlier the area around Nassau had been haunted by a certain Captain Claudius Friday and his sordid crew; they had preyed on passing ships and harbour towns alike and been even more notorious than their comrades for their unusual cruelty and literal thirst for blood. Then the Fortuna had come across them quite by coincidence and taken them on. Heavy losses had been suffered, more than three quarters of the Fortuna's crew including their own captain had given their lives to the noble cause, but in the end, First Lieutenant Stansfield had been able to present the villain's infamous broad sword to Admiral Thompson of Nassau, Head of the Royal Navy in the Caribbean. The Lieutenant had been promoted instantly to become a Captain and Head of Fort St. George of Kingstown, Saint Vincent, as well as a national treasure.

"That _still_ doesn't tempt me to wrap myself into fashionable breathlessness." She grinned. "And if Captain Stansfield is dissatisfied with our humble situation – though I wonder why he should be, being stationed in Kingstown these days, and compared to Kingstown, Port Royal is said to be a roaring metropolis – well, he isn't to stay long anyway, is he?"

"Oh well – should Commodore Norrington not come back – God bless him – the Captain would probably be his successor."

Elizabeth turned pale. "But why shouldn't he come back, Papa? The Dauntless is the power in these waters!"

"But it isn't invincible, dear child. The Commodore is a very good sailor, and all the odds are in his favour, but you never know. Better accustom yourself to Captain Stansfield, it can do no harm."

She shuddered. "Please Papa, don't speak like that! Commodore Norrington, not to return to Port Royal! I pray you, it's bad luck to talk in this fashion!"

"Since when are you so superstitious, my dear? _You_ of all people!"

"I hadn't believed in ghost stories either, until actually facing a crew of skeletons."

Yes, this was true. The Governor, although not matching his daughter in smartness, was still a man of information and had always been ruled by sense. Hadn't he seen this damned crew with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. Ghosts and haunting spirits had belonged to fairy tales and children's stories in his mind; coming from England, where every old manor had its own story of spooking lost souls, he had always dismissed these tales as results of an imagination running wild.

As a matter of fact, he wasn't really so terribly concerned for the Commodore's sake; he was almost perfectly certain that he'd return to them healthy and hale. _His_ intention had been to introduce the matter of the respectable Captain to his daughter and soften her against him if possible. She might have found fault with one honourable officer, but who could say how she'd find the next?

The morning came, and with it the HMS Fortuna, an old, dignified ship that had seen a great many battles, and though she _looked_ like stability itself, an experienced eye could well see that she was no longer. Once again Governor Swann and his daughter had dutifully made down for the harbour, and in the latter's case, genuine curiosity had won the day over mere performance of duty.

Captain Richard Stansfield was, as already mentioned, famous in his own right for having valiantly fought and vanquished one of the last real pirate threats in the Caribbean (his detractors sneered he had gotten the only one the Commodore hadn't finished off himself). Elizabeth, however, knew that her former fiancé had only ever dealt with the boring cases, and she expected much from Captain Stansfield now. After all, _somebody_ must have hunted the truly exciting pirates that the books wrote about.

And speaking of expectations – she had expected the kind of middle-aged and bawdily avuncular sailor as she usually saw when other Navy ships made berth in Port Royal, but the man now coming down the dock was quite the opposite of what she had anticipated. He was much younger, not quite as tall as the Commodore but decidedly more broad-shouldered, and coming closer, she was amazed to spot an air of easygoing good humour that she had never seen before in a man of rank, so very unlike the Commodore, or Lieutenant Gillette, for an instance.

"Welcome to Port Royal," her father greeted him, and the two men exchanged all due courtesies before she was introduced. Captain Stansfield smiled agreeably. "It's a pleasure to see that Port Royal isn't only the home of some of England's finest sailors. I hadn't expected to meet an enchanting young lady such as yourself, Miss Swann!"

"You must have a very bad opinion of us, Captain Stansfield. I wonder how we're spoken of in Kingstown."

"You needn't worry, Miss. Of _you_ , I've heard only the best; those of my officers who were so lucky as to have been stationed here before wouldn't cease praising your beauty and charms. But you know how it is – a sailor likes to spin his yarn, and one better doesn't believe a single thing he says until it's being proven."

Satisfied with his civilities she gave him a friendly smile and seized the opportunity to have another look. His features were angular and not perfectly regular, weathered by the sun and wind, yet his tan emphasised a set of twinkling grey eyes which betrayed that he was smiling and laughing a lot. She wondered how old he might be, estimating him to be approximately about the same age as James Norrington, his complexion and laughter lines rendering him older, but his cheerfulness letting him appear a lot younger than this one. Her father chatted animatedly with the newcomers, about their journey, about the awaited new ship, and slyly, Elizabeth made use of her fan to hide behind and survey the Captain some more.

The man was a perfect picture of an officer in the way they were depicted in her novels. He had a good figure, held himself very gracefully – like a tiger about to plunge, she thought – and there was just enough earnestness in his face not to make him appear overly frivolous either. On the whole he had the air of a man for whom the world was too small, an adventurer, an explorer, full of life and vigour and verve – what a difference he made to the Commodore! 'Fun' was one of the things desperately lacking in a place like Port Royal, and Captain Stansfield already promised indeed to be a worthy addition to the town.

Well, she'd have plenty of time and possibility to find out; for a start, Captain Stansfield and his men as well as the senior officers from Fort Charles were to have lunch in the Governor's house. Governor Swann offered the captain a ride in their carriage, but chuckling, the man declined. "Oh no, sir, we better go by foot. Even a great ship like the Fortuna offers only little room to exercise, so I hope you excuse us for slighting your kind offer for the sake of some walking. It'll do us all good."

His men smiled their agreement and so the Swanns drove home by themselves, losing no time to discuss their new acquaintance. "How did you like them, my dear? I must say, I'm very pleased with the lot of them!"

"Oh, I do like them very well, Papa. It is nice to have somebody around for a change who actually knows how to smile."

The Governor nodded, satisfied. "Yes, indeed! Very agreeable manners, and the Captain is as fine a man as any I've ever seen!"

"Papa!" she cried, laughing and shaking her head. "I know what you're up to."

"I'm not up to anything, my dearest Elizabeth, I'm just speaking my mind."

"Yes, a mind full of scheming, I know you too well."

This was true, he thought to himself, his daughter could see right through him, just like her mother had. He hadn't allowed himself to set too much hope in the Captain before his actual arrival, but now, the tables seemed to turn. He knew enough of his own child to see that she had taken an instant liking to the Captain, and was this bad for a start?

The Captain was a couple of years younger than Commodore Norrington and therefore slightly closer to her in age, the Governor reflected. That could only come in handy. Secondly, he appeared a man of wit and good humour, and Elizabeth had a playful, sometimes untamed disposition, she was bound to enjoy his company. If only good Captain Stansfield had come to Port Royal half a year earlier – the Governor had no doubt that she would have preferred him instantly to the boy she had picked now. With all his qualities, Will Turner couldn't be called a wit, not even his benevolent fiancée could claim that. She surely would have traded a set of wistful brown eyes for the sake of sparkling grey ones, wouldn't she?

Perhaps the Captain hadn't so pretty a face as young Will Turner, or the noble straight features of the Commodore, but surely, he was more dashing than either. He looked very snappy in his blue coat, and his air of masculinity must impress any young woman, the Governor thought. Will Turner was too young still to have developed such a physique, and the good Commodore would never achieve it at all. He was too slender for his very tall height, much more a gentleman than a man of war, and hadn't he be the younger son, he would have made a good figure in St. James's.

The Royal Navy, Governor Swann reflected earnestly, attracted young men of all sorts, united in one aspect – they were the more unlucky ones. The lower ranks were filled with fellows who would find no other living than joining the King's armies, and as for the higher ranks, they contained almost exclusively second- or third-born sons of British gentility. These young men, born into good society but without any prospect of maintaining themselves without profession (and a very short list of professions it was that was regarded suitable for a gentleman!), struck the Governor to be undeservedly neglected by Providence. Tradition and law prescribed the oldest son to be the sole heir to the family fortune, saving the great estates from being torn apart. According to the same tradition, the youngest son could hope for a career as a clergyman, provided by his oldest brother with a suitable parish. The middle sons however had little to bargain but their own health and ambition, driven out of their comfortable homes at the age of seventeen or eighteen and forced to go to war or sail out into the world to earn some merits and but more importantly, money. It was a pity, and being the Governor of a tropical merchant harbour, he had seen many, many unhappy boys serving their first of many seasons.

The Commodore himself was such a pitiful example, but in fact, almost every other officer had a similar history. Lieutenant Gillette – the younger son of a baronet. Lieutenant Paige, his predecessor – the third grandson of Lord Featherstonehaugh. Even Admiral Thompson of Nassau shared his inferiors' sad fate, being the son of an impoverished gentleman. The Captain was in fact a cousin of Lieutenant Gillette, making him a grandson of Sir Francis Gillette of Walworth Hall, too, even if his father was only a commoner.

Still, blood will out, the Governor thought, observing his new hope during lunch and finding that the Captain, too, would be quite ornamental at court. The meal was as agreeable as the manners of the guests, and everyone agreed that they would just love to continue their conversations in the evening. Governor Swann hurried to invite some of the town's dignitaries, among them Reverend Martin and his wife and the van Dykes.

The latter were just back from Willemstad where they had spent some months while Mr. van Dyke pursued some business or other. He was a Dutch spice merchant and by far the richest man in Port Royal, his fortune outranking even the Governor's. His oldest daughter Marleen was Elizabeth's particular friend, four years her senior and quite different in temper and disposition. Being her only confidante, Elizabeth had sorely missed her friend during those past eventful weeks, and could scarcely wait to tell her all about her adventures.

She managed to squeeze in some mentions of Captain Barbossa, the Isla de Muerta, and of course, Jack Sparrow, but naturally, her engagement to Will Turner was the beginning and the end of all her talking.

Will Turner! Oh, what a man he had become! So handsome! These eyes! These cheeks! That figure formed by hard work! And so modest, and shy! Sweet Will was as perfect in Elizabeth's eyes as she was in James Norrington's; he was like one of the heroes in the novels she clandestinely read. Handsome and humble – and he had become a pirate in order to rescue her! Yes, in Elizabeth's head, young William Turner was a hero like Captain Morgan. Noble. Brave. Mysterious (well, quiet, anyway).

She was so enraptured that it escaped her that her friend was rolling her eyes. Marleen van Dyke was nothing if not sensible, and romantic gushing had certainly never been her field of expertise.

"Yes, yes, I'm acquainted with the boy, Lizzy! No need to repeat what I already know. But I daresay you left some of the more intriguing bits out," she said at last with a knowing grin.

"Hm?"

"Oh, don't give me that look! Our maids clued me up on _all_ your latest conquests."

"Oh!" Elizabeth blushed. "Er... Well, there is not much to tell, is there?"

"Not much to tell!"

"I made a mistake."

"You surely did. Turning down the lovely Commodore!"

The 'matter of the Commodore', as Marleen would have termed it, had been a long-standing staple of their conversations before she had left for Willemstad last winter. To her, the man's infatuation with her friend had been quite obvious for at least a year, and she had never lost an opportunity to tease Elizabeth with it. She hadn't done so out of spite, but in order to awaken the girl's attention to him, who, although being a sailor, figured as highly in Marleen's esteem as any man possibly could and who would, she was certain of it, make the most perfect of husbands.

"I didn't turn him down," Elizabeth retorted a little contritely. "He gave me free. That's not the same."

"No, darling, it is, for all intents and purposes. Alas, it is said that familiarity breeds contempt –"

"Oh hush! Contempt! Think of what you're saying, Marleen!"

"Well, you know what I mean."

"No, I do _not_! I do admire the Commodore without reservations. He is the most excellent creature – honourable – decent –"

"Pity you can't marry them both," Marleen snarled drily.

"Nonsense! Can you even picture me as the Commodore's wife!"

"Easily. Much more easily than picturing you as the wife of a blacksmith."

"No, I mean – as the first woman of Port Royal."

"But you _are_ the first woman of Port Royal!"

"But only as my father's daughter, and I do not delude myself thinking I was any good at the job."

Marleen grinned smugly. "I daresay you'll botch the job of being a poor blacksmith's wife much worse. What will you do, living without a servant? Have you any idea how to cook? Or wash? Or how to kindle a fire?"

"I'm sure I can learn that easily enough."

"Oh, you do, do you? And next thing you'll learn is how to perform all those tasks on your own that in your father's house are done by two dozen people."

Elizabeth's cheeks turned pink. "Don't talk so big, Marleen! You don't know how to do any of this either."

"Of course not, but that doesn't matter because I'm not going to become a humble little homemaker."

"Oh no, the way _you_ keep going you'll end up an old spinster instead!"

Marleen didn't take offence in the slightest but laughed out loudly instead. "And a very merry one, you bet! But why do you assume I didn't meet some decent tradesman in Willemstad?"

Elizabeth's expression changed from vexation to sheer delight, and with wide eyes, she cried, "But why didn't you say?"

"I couldn't get a word in so far, could I? But before getting you overexcited, I got to tell you I was just joking. Willemstad is full of exactly the same sort of men like Port Royal, the only difference being that they talk Dutch."

It should perhaps be explained at this point that, despite being in her early twenties already, Miss van Dyke had but little interest in finding herself a husband. She didn't have to, being rich enough herself. Unlike her friend however, this reluctance wasn't rooted in overly romantic aspirations. Marleen van Dyke didn't believe in romantic love. She believed in regard and respect, in equality of sense and situation, thinking that if she ever came across a man uniting in himself all these characteristics, she might after all be tempted to marry, but certainly no sooner.

What made the task even more demanding was her avowed determination to never attach herself to a sailor (and Port Royal had little else to offer in that aspect). Not that she found them a bad set of men, to the contrary – very honourable, very worthy, the lot of them. But also _very_ mobile, moving from one point on the globe to the next, and it hadn't taken her stay in Willemstad for her to know that she liked her home town above all others. Also, sailing was such a dangerous business, be it as a soldier or as a merchant. She was not inherently nervous by disposition, but thought that her peace of mind would be in constant peril with a husband (and father of her children, possibly) at sea facing God knows what hazards.

"Come on then, Lizzy," she said conciliatorily. "Before the officers arrive, you've got to tell me how this Captain Sparrow kisses."

"What?!"

"Don't be coy, darling. Marooned on an island with a notorious pirate and little hope to be found..."

"I've never kissed Jack Sparrow, Marleen! Goodness, what a vivid imagination you've got!"

" _I_ would have kissed him, to be sure. How often does a respectable girl get the opportunity to kiss a real pirate?"

"I couldn't think of kissing any other man than my Will," Elizabeth said primly and folded her hands as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"And the good Commodore."

"For heaven's sake, I didn't kiss him either! What do you take me for!"

"But you were engaged to the man for – what – three weeks? Are you seriously telling me that in all that time he never tried -"

"Apparently his mind is much purer than yours, my dear! No, he did _not_ try to kiss me, and I don't think I would have allowed him to do so either."

Miss van Dyke was more than a little stumped. "I'm sorry, but I seem to be missing some vital parts of this story. He asked you to marry him, right?"

"Yes."

"And you said yes."

"Yes... Eventually."

"And yet...? Nothing?! Blimey, I knew the Commodore was standoffish, but who would have figured he was _that_ standoffish!"

Uneasily, Elizabeth fidgeted around and decided, unflattering as it was for her, to fill in the last missing pieces of the whole sordid affair. Marleen once again listened, amusement and disapproval mingling in her pretty porcelain doll face.

Feeling her friend's censure, Elizabeth quickly changed the subject. "I dare say that you will be enchanted by Captain Stansfield, Marleen. If only you were willing to give your heart to a sailor!"

And even though the thought had only just occurred to her, she was instantly convinced that nothing was more natural than her friend falling utterly in love with the gallant captain and vice versa. It might need some orchestration, but she'd soon see to that!

"You are as transparent as a window pane," Marleen interrupted her musing, still shaking her head. "And if you think I let you off just for introducing another topic, you don't know me very well. Seriously, Lizzy, how could you –"

Elizabeth was spared a lecture on the impropriety of her conduct because in this moment Scott appeared and announced the arrival of the officers.

Downstairs, anybody who was anybody was already gathered when the gentlemen came in. They were instantly surrounded by the curious crowd, even poor Lieutenant Gillette receiving his share of interest. This did not happen very often; for some reason or other, he wasn't very popular, and had been to the Governor's house only four or five times before in all the years he had been stationed in Port Royal. The Captain being a relation by blood seemed to cause a surge in his popularity and he obviously enjoyed himself and his newly-gained status, for his rank might have been lowered by Captain Stansfield's arrival – he had represented the Commodore in the last days – but he for once seemed to feel no grudge about it. Instead, he talked and laughed gaily, outclassed by the far more interesting Captain, but possibly accustomed to this state anyway.

"You happen to know Mr. and Mrs. Callahan in Nassau?" – "What about Admiral Thompson?" – "What about Kingstown?" – "Have you been to Nassau lately?"

Captain Stansfield answered every question with accuracy and wit, and it took only half an hour to endear him to everybody present. Even Marleen acknowledged quietly, "I must say, you were right, Lizzy. He seems to be a thoroughly pleasant man."

"Ah, do I hear you change your mind after all, Marleen?" this one replied just as softly behind her fan. "A sailor for you, perhaps?"

"No, I rather wait for another blacksmith to rob my heart, darling, I heard the most amazing things about this profession," the young woman retorted, but kept on observing the Captain all the same.

A few minutes later, the busy man managed to come over to them at last, clearly a little exhausted, and took a seat next to Miss van Dyke on the divan.

"Pooh, a man likes to think of himself as the silent, taciturn type, only to find he's the worst blabbermouth of them all." He turned to Elizabeth, "I've been given intelligence that it takes congratulating you, Miss Swann. You're freshly engaged, I believe?"

Elizabeth shot the crowd that had beleaguered the Captain up to now a swift glare, wondering what they might have said about her and her engagement, before saying with a hint of defiance in her voice, "I am, Captain Stansfield."

"Well, I can only congratulate you on that head! And where is the lucky fellow? I shall hope to meet the happiest man in the Eastern Caribbean!"

"And you shall. If you should ever be in need of an exquisite blade, you will find no better than manufactured by my fiancé," Elizabeth replied. She had expected him to show some astonishment, or scorn even, but suiting his whole air, he merely laughed.

"That sounds promising, and indeed, I am in want of a good sword. I shall visit him as soon as I can. But where are my manners..." He smiled brightly at Marleen. "I believe we haven't been introduced. Will you do us the honours, Miss Swann?"

Elizabeth was inwardly beaming with joy, but tried hard to not let it show. How wonderful that the Captain should turn to Marleen so straightaway!

"Certainly. Captain Stansfield, allow me to introduce my friend Miss van Dyke to you. She is the smartest woman I've ever met, and entirely footloose and fancy-free!"

Marleen's smile was etched in granite at this introduction, but Stansfield merely roared with laughter. "I am enchanted to make your acquaintance, Miss van Dyke."

"The pleasure is all mine, Captain."

"Ungallant as it may seem, however, I cannot believe your friend's claim that a young lady as gloriously handsome as you should still be unattached."

With a perceptible note of mockery, she retorted, "Oh, all the promising young men in Port Royal always fall for Miss Swann here – saves me lots of trouble."

"Can I believe that, Miss Swann? You truly are a man-eater and distract everyone's attention from your charming young friend?"

"Absolutely not, sir! Miss van Dyke is exaggerating, but that's just her way. She is such a good laugh!" Elizabeth cried playfully, seeing her schemes in action already. Surely, Captain Stansfield would esteem nothing so highly in a woman than a sense of humour. "So what about you, sir? Are you one of those sailors with a bonny lass in every harbour, or can the lucky girls of Port Royal still hope?"

Miss van Dyke shut her eyes in sheer horror of the impertinence of the question, but the Captain didn't miss a beat.

"But you know how it is, Miss Swann," he said gaily, "in our profession, we sailors spend so much time on board of a ship, we're quite unfit for elegant company."

"I find you're cutting a very good figure in this company, sir. Don't you think, Marleen?"

She beamed at him and tried to unobtrusively elbow her friend, who had enough and lightly sprang to her feet. "Please excuse me, I think my mother wants me," she muttered and hurried away.

"I think you chased your friend away, Miss Swann," Stansfield remarked, sniggering.

"Miss van Dyke is very well-bred. Quite unlike me," the girl muttered, annoyed that Marleen seemed so intent to mar her plans, but too wrapped up in her new acquaintance to grumble for long. "I notice that you didn't answer my question though."

"Which question was that, Miss Swann?"

"Are you or are you not taken, Captain?"

"Why, are you in the market that you are so keen to know the price?"

She was stumped, not knowing whether to feel affronted or laugh out loud. She decided for the latter option, finding his gift for quick repartee much in line with her friend's own brand of wit. And after all of Marleen's recommendations of noble James Norrington, she could hardly be oblivious to Captain Stansfield's worth, who was almost as handsome, surely more fun, and who couldn't be far away from another promotion, being a favourite with Admiral Thompson already. What else could be there to ask for?

Had she been present down in the fort later that night though, she would have been deeply disappointed that not Marleen van Dyke was the first and foremost topic among the officers after returning from the Governor's party.

"So that was Jimmy Norrington's infamous child bride," Captain Stansfield chuckled. "After all I've heard, I wondered what she'd be like."

"She's not _that_ young," his First Lieutenant said.

"Oh, she may be eighteen on the outside, but there is a thirteen-year-old underneath with a lot of bees in her bonnet. Not at all what I'd imagined. Old Jimmy must have changed materially since I last saw him."

"What do you mean, pray?" asked one of the Fort Charles ensigns.

"I mean that while I do not pretend to know your Commodore very well, I've always found him very serious-minded."

"That's one way of putting it," Lieutenant Gillette snarled but was ignored by his cousin.

"Well, his almost-bride is a lot of things but certainly not serious. Good for him! I mean – very sad for him, of course. But still."

Gillette grinned maliciously. "Oh yes, very sad indeed. She deserted him with half the town looking on. It couldn't have been more public if they'd sent out invitations."

He received a lot of scandalised look from the Fort Charles portion of the officers for that remark, and a derisory scolding from his cousin.

"Clearly, you've never been in love yourself, Henry. Or were you so jilted that you cannot commiserate a poor chap? I can see where he's coming from though. The girl's very pretty and just charming."

"But utterly addle-brained."

"Henry, you really _are_ the most terrible boor!"

"What about the other young lady? Miss van Dyke?" the Fortuna's Second Lieutenant asked with two red blots on his cheeks.

"Oh, forget it, Harper," Gillette gnarled. "Her dowry is even grander than Miss Swann's, but she doesn't give a chap the time of day."

"Or it might just be your lack of charms, Henry," Captain Stansfield remarked, slapping his cousin's back.

"She is very handsome, don't you think?" Second Lieutenant Harper muttered, shining like a beacon.

"Pretty and rich, eh?" Stanfield chuckled. "Why, I should have known _that_ sooner."

"Now you do."

"And break poor Norman's heart here?" He winked at the Second Lieutenant, who decided it was time to polish his boots with his sleeve and vanish under the table. "Besides, she is indeed beautiful, but too – delicate – for my taste. I prefer the feisty ones, like your Miss Swann."

Gillette sneered. "Oh, wouldn't she be just the game for you?"

"A game perhaps, but not a challenge. The lady isn't as attached to her fiancé as you believe."

"All the better, I say!"

"And what would your good Commodore have to say to _that_?"

"Pah! Who cares!"

"I do. I should very much like to see Jimmy Norrington as my friend, not my enemy. And if you weren't such a fool, Henry, so should you."


	4. Two Men

**Two Men**

* * *

 _I wept not, so to stone within I grew._

DANTE

* * *

Two very different men were lying in their beds this night, incapable to find sleep and failing for much the same reason. This reason was Elizabeth Swann, and one of the men was William Turner, her new fiancé.

Considering how unfortunate his entire life had been up to now, nothing had prepared him to handle such sheer bliss as he was feeling. The loveliest girl in the world had the grace to be in love with him – _him_ , a poor orphan, son of the infamous Bootstrap Bill, and underrated by almost anyone who had ever met him. Not in his boldest dreams had he ever dared to do as much as hope to raise his _thoughts_ to Elizabeth! In her presence, he had hardly managed to speak, or breathe, ever since he had been fourteen; her sight had made his heart beat faster, her voice had been like music to his ears.

But Miss Swann was a lady, she was the Governor's only daughter, she was heaven itself – in short, she had been as far out of Will Turner's reach as the moon, as he had been only too well aware. She had always treated him very well; she had been more than just civil, she had been kind and obliging, but he had thought this to be just her nature. Not once he had meant that this heavenly creature could possibly return his feelings. But she _did_ _!_ It was too good to be true.

She was his with hand and heart, and that although he had already deemed all hope foregone – she had been engaged to Commodore Norrington, and even long before the man had actually asked her, Will had never actually hoped and simply assumed that she was going to marry the Commodore anyway. Whom but him? With all his merits and virtues and natural superiority, he had appeared a perfect match for lovely Elizabeth. Admittedly, Port Royal possessed no wide variety of possible spouses, but that made the Commodore no less impressive.

Eight years ago during the passage here, Will had been a boy of eleven years, and although Norrington had been merely the First Lieutenant, he had already intimidated the confused child. He had been the de facto captain, as the old and senile Captain Craddock hadn't been able to do anything himself, and Will had admired the young man's determination and skill and hidden somewhere on deck in order to watch Lieutenant Norrington. To hold himself like this one, to be able mastering a sword like he – he had been an idol for the boy.

Only recently, the tables had turned; the more conscious he had become of his long-standing affection for Elizabeth, the more his jealousy had ruled him. For the first time, he had found fault with Captain Norrington, unjust and unfounded, but fervent still. A man courting Miss Swann should be more committed, ought to show more fire and devotion, her diffident secret admirer had grumbled. Only six weeks ago, when they had travelled back from the Isla de Muerta, Will had avoided the sight of them, afraid that the newly-appointed Commodore could adopt just this line of behaviour now that she had actually said yes. But even a great vessel like the Dauntless was too small for avoiding somebody completely, all the more her commanding officer. And despite himself and his nagging jealousy, Will had seen himself forced to restore his old respect for an excellent sailor and an impeccable gentleman. It had been a weird source of comfort to him to think of Elizabeth as the future Mrs. Commodore; he would make her a good, respectable husband and he clearly adored her, that much had been obvious.

Well, as things were now, Will could muster a good deal of compassion for the Commodore indeed. Poor man! To be engaged to the love of his life in one moment, and let go of her in the next – that was tough, and once again, Will admired the Commodore's flawless demeanour. No gentleman could have acted with more fortitude; he had actually wished his former fiancée and himself _luck_ and given her free. The true greatness that had been displayed in his conduct was more impressive than all his famous victories taken together in Will's eyes. But the young man wasn't so selfless as to withdraw for his rival's sake, now that he knew that Elizabeth loved him; _that_ would have been too much to ask indeed.

His only sorrow now was _when_ he would be allowed to wed the sweetest of all women, and that was a big problem indeed. He had no idea how he should raise enough money to be able of offering her the life that she deserved, and none of Elizabeth's soothing would help him. He felt that she had no clue what he was talking about; money had never been important to her, simply because she had always got more than enough of it. She didn't know that all the work of a blacksmith, how good he might ever be and however much he laboured, simply wasn't enough to afford a marriage to a woman like her. And she seemed to believe that he could somehow learn to tolerate living on her money, which was out of the question.

He toyed with the idea of joining the Navy as well; he was a very good sword fighter, and considering that his father had been a gifted sailor… But that would take too long; with all his merits, Captain Norrington had taken thirteen years until being made a Commodore. He could impossibly wait _thirteen_ years to marry Elizabeth! It would have been a good plan, but it would not do.

Those were the sorrows and delights of Will Turner, while happiness outclassed worry by far. With a girl like Elizabeth at his side, what could be there to truly fear or fret about?

Six hundred miles west of the young lucky beggar and at quite the other end of the social strata was another man tossing and turning in his berth, desperate with the memory of the same lady and unable to fall asleep over it.

Commodore James Norrington was a legend among seafaring men, who, superstitious as they were, looked at his comet-like career and wondered if he had struck a deal with the devil to come as far as he had in so little time.

They had no idea just _how_ far he had in fact come. His start in life hadn't been very promising; he was the third son – and therefore without claim to fortune or title – of Lord Alfred Norrington, the 11th Marquis of Crawley, a man marked neither for warmth nor compassion, and his wife Lady Cynthia, who matched her spouse in coolness but not joie de vivre. His sturdy older brothers had bullied the delicate child relentlessly and the only person in the house with some fondness for him had been their old governess Miss McKendell, who had not chosen her profession because she liked children or was any good at handling them in the first place.

Lord Alfred was no malevolent man, he just didn't have any interest in his offspring, and was more than irritated by little James, gentle as the boy was, more inclined to read than to roughhousing; his quiet ways had grated more on his father's nerves than his boisterous brothers' shenanigans ever had. Consequently, aged seven he had been sent away to school and only ever come home for the summer holidays, which was more than fine by him – an entire school full of dunderheads was, ironically, easier to endure than two older brothers who had it in for him. With Alfred as the firstborn heir and brother Frederick destined to serve in the Army, it had fallen to young James to join the Navy, so aged fourteen he had been taken out of school and sent to Mariner's College in Portsmouth.

Initially, his career in the King's Navy hadn't appeared to be rewarding either. Lanky and slight in his youth, he hadn't had the stature for a proper seaman to begin with, additional to the fact that his character and talents had been of a different variety as well. He had been a gifted pianist, a great reader, timid, humble and good-hearted. Boys like he usually didn't make useful soldiers. But then, nature creates few men brave, industry and training makes many, and the Commodore had worked very hard indeed.

Lord Alfred's indifferent care had gone far enough as to secure him an ordinary officer's commission; at the tender age of eighteen he had hired on the Philadelphia as a common ensign and sailed off to the Atlantic to fight the French. His captain had taken a liking to him there due to the boy's cleverness, self-discipline and remarkable gift to handle a sword. Despite his rather slender frame, he had bravely fought in battle, and within less than a year, he had been made a lieutenant. Aged twenty-two, he had been made First Lieutenant, the Philadelphia had been destroyed and he had been sent to the Caribbean instead, aboard of the Dauntless. He had captained her for no more than nine months then, she had not been his 'own' – his first own ship had been in fact the Interceptor – but he loved her more than any other ship he had ever sailed on. He couldn't have explained why. His critics sneered that it must be her grandiosity that flattered his vanity; he was the youngest officer in the entire Royal Navy by a long margin in charge of a first rate ship of the line.

The Dauntless was a slow vessel, heavy to handle due to her sheer size; for a sailor loving to sail (which he was and did), she was not the thing at all. What she was really good for though was combat, and what she was even better for was deterrence of combat in the first place. As a matter of fact, that was the true reason for his fondness, because as brave as he may ever be, he never fought for the sake of it. Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please; it was his responsibility to take care of the lives of his men and he didn't risk them lightly.

Had he known what had awaited them on the Isla de Muerta, not even his love for Elizabeth would have induced him to send his men there. Seventy soldiers had been killed in the scuffle; they hadn't stood a chance against undead skeletons and James would never have demanded them to throw themselves into such an unequal fight. Those seventy dead men weighed heavily on his conscience; he had been responsible for them and he had failed.

"It's not your fault, sir," his First Lieutenant had said when they had discussed this point. "No one could have foreseen _that_ happening."

"It may not be my _fault_ , Robert, but it surely is my _responsibility_. I should never have rushed off like I did."

"If you want to blame someone, blame Miss Swann! She knew what we were up against and sent us in anyway without compunction."

"Leave her out of this. For a start, I would never ever have believed her. Would you? And then, it isn't up to her to bother her head about my military decisions. She isn't the Commodore of this fleet; I am. She may ask for a favour, but it would have been up to me to make a sensible decision whether I grant it or not, and I did no such thing."

"You are too indulgent –"

"Stop it, Robert." He shot the younger man a warning glance. "I know you mean well, but I will not hear an unjust word against her."

Lieutenant Robert Groves had started as a seaman on the Philadelphia ten years ago, aged only sixteen, and like many of the young soldiers he had idolised Lieutenant Norrington, who in his free time had taken the troubles to practise sword-fighting with them. 'If I can do it, anyone can learn it,' had been his credo. Their ways had crossed again seven years ago when Seaman Groves had found himself assigned to serve in Port Royal under the acting head of Fort Charles, Lieutenant Commander Norrington, who had paid no heed to the boy's want of connections and respected him for his hard work, intelligence and courage. If at all possible, they had sailed together ever since. Robert Groves was the closest thing to a real friend the Commodore had; either would have trusted the other with his life. In consequence, Lieutenant Groves was the only one who had some insight into the Commodore's heart and mind; he had noticed his superior's partiality for the Governor's daughter before he had become aware of it himself, and he was plainly revolted by the way the girl had dealt with his friend.

Granted, the man was at pains to keep his feelings to himself and usually quite successful in doing so. But he couldn't fool Groves, who saw him hardly touching the food on his plate, who noticed his wanness and tension underneath the cool exterior. So it happened that despite his tactfulness, Groves finally took heart and spoke his mind, out of genuine concern.

"Sir, I know it is not my place, but I must speak to you regardless," he said when they were on their own at the helm one night. "You know how you always say that there is no other way of guarding oneself against flattery than by letting men understand that they will not offend you by speaking the truth?"

"Out with it, Robert. You know I've always appreciated your candour."

"Sir, Miss Swann is a beautiful lady, but there are plenty of others just like her. Don't grieve over a woman who wouldn't have you when there are countless others who would!"

"What school of thought did you get _that_ advice from?"

"Sir?"

"It's as the poet says, Robert – love, which absolves no beloved one from loving, seized me so strongly with his charm that, as thou seest, it does not leave me yet," the Commodore explained laconically, thinking how long he had pined for the girl.

He couldn't have said when it had begun. He had known her half her life, had known her when she was a little girl still, had seen her grow up from a cheerful, lively child to a smart, insouciant and stunningly beautiful young woman, still every bit as vivacious as she had used to be, still unguarded, candid, saucy. Only her affection for her father bridled her temper to a degree appropriate for the daughter of Port Royal's premier man – but only in public. At home, regardless whether the head of Fort Charles was there or not, she was very much herself. He would have been inconsolable if it had been otherwise.

Three and a half years ago he had sailed off to the war in the North, saying goodbye to a sweet-natured, wild and funny child and promising to bring her back some souvenir, a pledge he had honoured on many occasions. Whenever he had come across an interestingly exotic item, he had thought how much little Elizabeth would like it, thus collecting fossilized tritons and glorious pressed orchids, ludicrous bonnets and strange dolls manufactured by the Northern natives, a huge and intricately carved walrus tusk and beautifully illustrated maps of places that merely existed in the imaginations of their makers like Ultima Thule and El Dorado. Unfortunately, his entire collection had been blown to pieces by a series of French volleys hitting his quarters, so when he had finally returned a year later, the only gift he had for her had been a French sabre, which had delighted her far more than he had expected. But what _had_ he expected? Certainly not that she'd have grown a waist and eight inches in height, that her pudgy little face would have blossomed to such rare beauty, that her delightful childish charm had turned into downright enchantment.

Well, he had always marvelled at her; her temper was so very different from his own, and he had marked down the changes in her person as well as the changes in his perception of her to yet another of her little idiosyncrasies. Still – and without realising that he was falling in love with her – he had begun to think of marriage in some different way than a mere occurrence of some likelihood in his more distant future. If they weren't confirmed bachelors, men of his rank usually married sooner or later, but since he was so much younger than his fellows, he had never yet given it a thought. He had never met a woman in whom he had taken an interest either. He didn't meet many women to begin with, and he hadn't counted Elizabeth to even _be_ a woman until quite recently.

But she was, and what was more, she was a woman he met frequently both because of his position and because of his old friendship to her father. He dined with the family two or three times each week, they went out for walks together and spent the evenings together. He had always felt at home with the Swanns, much more than he ever had with his own family, but strangely, he had felt increasingly tongue-tied in her presence. After years of easy footing, he had sometimes not dared to meet her eyes, or forgotten what he was to say _while speaking_. After he himself had taught her how to dance when she was twelve or thirteen, his heart had suddenly skipped some beats when she had asked him to dance on some function or other, oddly scared to blunder. After teaching her how to play chess and backgammon and all sorts of card games over the years, he all of a sudden had felt as if lightning had struck him when her fingers grazed his by accident.

And after some more months of ever growing bewilderment, even the stolid Commodore had come to realise that the feelings he harboured for the young woman weren't mere friendly fondness.

"What poet?" Groves asked cluelessly.

"Never mind. What I meant to say is that after all these years, you might want to grant me some more days to get over her."

"If it were a matter of _days_ , I would never have touched the matter, sir! But we've been at sea for _five_ weeks now, and each day you look more stricken than the day before."

"Is it so bad!"

"Yes and no, sir. Don't worry, you're holding yourself admirably. But _I_ see it as clear as daylight."

"Oh dear, she must never notice. I promised her –"

"Oh, forget what you promised her! What does it matter what you promised that – that –"

James raised his eyebrows and interrupted him, "I advise you not to finish that thought, Robert."

The young man blushed. "My apologies, sir. All I'm saying is that you've just got to put her out of your mind. And after all that has happened, I cannot imagine I'd find that difficult if I were you."

"I hope you will remember your words of wisdom if you should ever find yourself in the same situation."

"If I do, I shall eat them, sir," Groves laughed.

James gave him a weak smile and sent him away, watching the last fading rays of the sun. The same poet he had thought of earlier had called this the hour that turned back the longing of seafarers and melted their hearts, piercing the travellers with love for those they had bid farewell. When he had first read the stanza many years ago, he had not understood it; he had never felt homesick for a minute, never missed Crawley Hall or his family. During the last year, he had thought he had finally grasped it, because he had missed Elizabeth when he was at sea. Now he saw that nothing had prepared him for missing her the way he did at this moment.

'Appetite with an opinion of attaining is called hope; the same, without such opinion, despair', he thought wryly. But how could he, in all seriousness, ever have _hoped_?

He had known she wasn't in love with him, of course she wasn't, what was this effervescent girl supposed to do with a stiff, boring officer thirteen years her senior? He hadn't even meant to ask her to marry him; it had been a foolish notion born out of the – literal! – heat of the moment; his promotion, the festive mood, her father's weird hints, the dizziness he had felt all day exacerbated by a glass of champagne and the sheer sight of her had, in sum, overwhelmed his critical faculties.

So he had tried to make a little speech – and failed utterly and completely – and instead of an answer, she had fainted. But his crazed imagination had made him fancy she might have fainted due to agitation – _he_ had been ready to sink with it after all. He had wished to tell her how ardent his love for her was, that he hoped to be allowed to rouse the same feeling in her, that he would wait for her as long as it might take. Well, not much of it had come out, and in his nervousness, he hadn't even noticed when she had fallen down the bloody cliff. If only he had jumped after her in this moment! If only he hadn't listened to Gillette's warnings! Perhaps he would have died, smashing on the rocks underneath, but at least he would have died for her then. But no, he had listened to reason, in this case: Lieutenant Gillette (rare enough! Gillette was not a man known for his intellectual capacities), and this had only set the whole sad story in motion. It had been Jack Sparrow's honour to be her rescuer, which had led to his arrest, which had led to this scoundrel enabling Will Turner to pursue her, which had made the boy a hero in her eyes…

Shortly, he had blamed it all on Sparrow, but the Commodore was too reasonable a man to deceive himself for long. To tell the truth, he even felt a strange sort of regard for 'Captain Sparrow', who had fooled him more than once, and he wasn't fooled easily. He'd hunt him down nevertheless, of course, but he appreciated a worthy opponent. He would catch him and if it was the last thing he did, but as for his personal preferences, it could well take some time until he got him in the end. He mustn't return to Port Royal before he hadn't rallied himself, and considering his present situation, he had the distinct impression that he wouldn't recover fast. If at all.

Because Lieutenant Groves was right, of course; this was not the first night seeing him in such a deplorable state. As a matter of fact, he had not really slept since they had left Port Royal, he had hardly eaten anything, and owed it to his pure strength of will to keep himself upright. He had never felt such misery, and was as little prepared to deal with it as Will Turner managed to handle his joy.

He had been despondent after she had been abducted by Barbossa and his men. The fear for her life – her well-being – the utter horror of what those monsters might do to her! He had been more distraught than even now, but the difference, the vital difference, had been that he had had _hope_ then, hope of finding her, hope of her being unharmed, perhaps even hope of her being his wife one day. He had nothing left to hope for _now_.

When she had accepted his proposal, he had been the happiest man on earth, and there is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery. For a moment, he had hesitated – well, not seriously, he would have married her anytime under the most terrible conditions – but he had asked her whether she had really meant it. He would have rowed to the end of the world for her, and freeing Will Turner had seemed a comparably small task, but in this moment and despite himself, he had wanted to know whether she married him for this purpose only. But her answer had dissolved his doubts into sheer happiness – 'Your answer would not change mine; you are a fine man, James' she had whispered, and he had been so out of himself with bliss that only his awareness of at least three dozen pairs of eyes gawking at them, just waiting to set their tongues waggling, had kept him from giving way to his being completely overwhelmed. He knew that she hadn't lied to him in this moment; that she would have kept her word if he had demanded it. Unhappily, this let her appear only _more_ noble, not less. She would have abandoned the man that she loved to save his life, she was willing to do whatever it would take, even marry someone else. But knowing this, how could he have kept her to her word then? All he cared for was she, her happiness – he wouldn't want to see her unhappy, even if this meant his own heart to break.

'So this is where your heart truly lies?'

Simple as they were, it had cost him everything to get these words over his lips. His head had been in a haze, his cravat had strangled him, his heart had been thumping so quickly and violently that he had heard nothing but the rush of blood in his ears. All he could have said for certain was that he had been surrounded by soldiers, the Governor, Elizabeth – Elizabeth! – and that boy – and… He must keep his composure and appear as orderly as he ever could, he must – he must – the Commodore of the South Eastern Navy Corps mustn't just lose control like some civilian.

Slowly and biting her lips like she always did she when cornered, she had said, "It is."

James Norrington was only thirty-one, but he was legend already. Relentlessly, he had seen to purge this part of the world from pirates and other criminals, he had brought peace and posterity to Port Royal, he had been made Commodore at an age when other sailors hadn't yet become a plain Commander. His success stemmed from a variety of qualities like patience and valour, tenacity and foresight, cleverness, discipline and self-control, and mostly, a capability that he couldn't quite account for himself. Somehow, he kept his nerve in situations of mortal danger. Unfortunately, this had been no such situation, or perhaps his luck had just deserted him in that very moment. Fact was that right there, he had simply been petrified.

In this predicament, which would certainly go down in the records as the worst of his whole life, he had, ironically enough, been saved by Jack Sparrow. The man's clowning about had spared him the sight of Elizabeth's enraptured smiles at the Turner boy, as he had approached and told him that he had 'rooted' for him, the Commodore – whatever that was supposed to mean. Hardly five seconds later, Sparrow had fallen down the cliff and James had been staring after him, still incapable to bring his mind in order. He could only gawk at Sparrow, down in the bay, and at the ship that had appeared out of nowhere to save him, and though he had tried his best to pull himself together, he had never felt more lost.

He had heard Gillette imploring him for orders. But the simple truth was that he had nothing else on his mind then but to get away from this place, reach his quarters and bar the door before breaking down. Ofttimes nothing profits more than self-esteem, grounded on just and right well managed, so he had summoned his last scratches of cool, put on a little smile and replied archly, "Oh, I think we can afford to give him one day's head start."

It was a good line, but what he had really meant was that he, Commodore James Norrington, needed twelve hours to himself before any sensible decision could be reasonably expected of him. He was no man to easily lose his composure, and most certainly, he would never do so in front of anybody's eyes. He also had a justified reputation to be neither a drunkard nor a whiner, but who could have blamed him on this day? He had marched to his rooms with all due dignity, shut the door in Robert Groves' face, locked it up and headed right for the bottle of Scotch in the cabinet. One glass of Scotch might clear his head, the second stop his heart from hammering like a drum, and half a bottle must surely have _some_ soothing effect on everything else, right?

He had hated the taste of it, but the burning in his throat was nothing compared to the burning in his eyes; without hesitation he had swallowed three glasses in quick succession before sitting down. Elizabeth – his fiancée – had just declared her love for the Turner boy, had she? Yes, without a doubt, she had. And he, James Norrington had given her free, had he? It would appear so, despite the daze that was enclosing him. A swift flicker of pride had made itself felt; he had handled this disaster rather well, had he not? The love of his life might have deserted him, but not so his self-control. Well, as silver linings go, this one was rather tarnished and surrounded by a sea of bitterness.

He had tried to get his head clear, to _understand_ what had just happened before his eyes. Sparrow had escaped – not to worry, they would catch him again. They always did. He had escaped because that Turner boy had saved him. Admirable technique, by the way – that throw had been incredible, the Commodore would not deny it, not even now. They had caught the both of them, due to his wise planning, yes. And then…? Elizabeth had suddenly appeared, had placed herself at the side of Turner and Sparrow – in a way, that was only natural, she was young and idealistic, and she had strongly opposed Sparrow's execution in the first place. But James hadn't fooled himself. It hadn't been her sense of justice that had made her go.

He had drained another glass of Scotch. Oh boy. He wasn't used to drinking anything more than the occasional glass of wine for supper; he disliked the loss of self-control alcohol affected. So after emptying half a bottle of spirits, he ought to be drunk, and he probably had been, but the only thing he had felt was the dire need to be sick.

He had lost Elizabeth for good, no amount of Scotch could change the knowledge and there was nothing anyone could do about it. At least, he had tried to console himself, at least he wouldn't have to watch the happy couple. He'd be at sea, aboard the Dauntless that had never let him down. He would do what he was best at. Pursuing and capturing dangerous criminals. Yes. Maybe that was his lot in life. Maybe he simply ought to stick to his job. He hadn't been promoted to impress young ladies, but to serve the Commonwealth and do so fully, with all his heart, all the commitment he was capable of. Yes.

Another sip of Scotch might enforce that resolution, he had thought, but instead, he had simply passed out. In the next morning, Groves had woken him up before dawn to get ready for the task at hand, and despite his awful headaches, he had at least slept a couple of hours. Count your blessings, he had told himself and put on his uniform. It was going to be a long day, followed by countless other long and exhausting days until they'd track down Sparrow. In his present state of mind, he hadn't been in a hurry to reach that goal though, the longer he was away, the better.

She would marry Will Turner, the young blacksmith, sooner or later. Of course, the boy needed to make his fortune first to afford it, but as Providence and sheer dumb luck seemed to be with these two, it could well be that the Governor died within the next five years, and being his only child, Elizabeth would inherit a substantial fortune. James doubted that the honourable Mr. Turner would agree to marry her on that foundation, but on the other hand, he would also not manage to withstand her too long. All he – James – had left to hope for was that he would be on sea on that day, or at the bottom of the ocean.

* * *

Nature creates few men brave, industry and training makes many. Machiavelli

Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please. Machiavelli

There is no other way of guarding oneself against flattery... Machiavelli

Love, which absolves no beloved one from loving... Dante

It was now the hour that turns back the longing of seafarers... Dante

For appetite with an opinion of attaining... Hobbes

There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery... Dante

Ofttimes nothing profits more... Milton


	5. Past and Present

**Past and Present**

* * *

 _And though, as Tully remarks, the populace may be ignorant, it is capable of grasping the truth and readily yields when a man, worthy of confidence, lays the truth before it._

 _NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI_

* * *

The news about Commodore Norrington's charming deputy had spread with lightning speed within the small community of Port Royal, and there was hardly a man or woman not eager to set eyes on him at last. He was praised for his military achievements, said to be dashingly good-looking, and even his pleasant manners couldn't be commended in a warmer fashion, although only few persons could boast to have encountered the man himself yet.

But that was easily remedied by a string of invitations and parties, and soon there was going to be a huge ball in the fortress, and one could see if he really was as fine a dancer as the general opinion already imputed on him.

"A new broom sweeps well," one of the ensigns of Fort Charles put it, but was immediately hushed by his comrades, because Captain Stansfield had a natural talent to make himself agreeable to everyone. He treated the stuffy aldermen with respect, their wives with deference, the sailors regardless of their rank with jovial camaraderie and the women with gallantry, wit or earnestness, depending on the lady's disposition.

"Pity he's a commoner's son," the Governor remarked to his daughter, "he'd have been an ornament to St. James's Court."

"You are such a snob, Papa," the girl giggled.

"I am not!" he defended himself knowing that she was right. "I am just saying that he cuts a very gallant figure."

Elizabeth, thinking of her friend Marleen, smiled and nodded. "He does absolutely," she said, unwitting how much pleasure the remark gave her father.

It was quite astounding how many people had set their hearts on the good Captain in one way or another; Governor Swann hoping to catch him for his daughter and Elizabeth eager to make him fall in love with her friend Marleen weren't the only ones by far. A good number of those girls desperately fancying the Commodore transferred their infatuation to his deputy (the others remained steadfast, now that he was available again...), and even if they were a minority, even some of the soldiers in the fort would have traded their master for the much more indulgent stand-in.

The Commodore had any number of strong convictions that the Captain did not uphold in the same way. For example, all soldiers were forbidden to frequent the local brothels, which were situated a little out of town and thereby out of the head of fort's jurisdiction. He was aware that he couldn't put a stop to his men going anyway, but there were severe penalties for those who were caught. Captain Stansfield's credo on the other hand was that a man wasn't accountable to his superior officer for what he did in his leisure time.

Commodore Norrington clearly didn't believe in leisure time at any rate, prescribing lots and lots of training for the soldiers, be it in sword-fighting, target practise with the muskets, every imaginable kind of drill, or, indeed, swimming. _He_ thought it imperative for his soldiers to at least _try_ to learn how to swim. Captain Stansfield entirely failed to see the point. "If, heaven beware, your ship capsizes in the middle of the ocean – what good is it to prologue your struggles for a little while until you drown anyway?" he asked, mystified, and turned the mandatory classes into voluntary ones. He also cut down the amount of time spent on other practise, arguing that happy men were better fighters and receiving some applause for that measure.

Then there was the harbour master and his lot who had fought a running battle against the Commodore by insisting that they could impossibly prevent imposters giving false names when anchoring and thereby, perhaps, sheltering one or two wanted criminals, now and then. That they were usually compensated generously for their lack of trouble was beside the question, was it not? Well, Captain Stansfield was a realist and made it known that he cared only for the smooth running of the port, not so much for the details how that end was achieved.

And thus it happened that only two weeks into his temporary sojourn, he was quite the favourite with pretty much everybody who had ever met him. Only one heart in the whole of Port Royal was somewhat disquieted by Captain Stansfield's stay. All the stories about him and his great deeds only deepened young Will Turner's anxiety, who had met him one morning when the praised Captain had come to Mr. Brown, Will's alleged master, to order a good sword.

The Captain had been very agreeable indeed; he was not at all aloof like Commodore Norrington, but easy-going and ingenuous, chatting animatedly about blades and techniques and commending Will for his excellent knowledge. But the friendlier he had been, the more uneasy Will had become – such a man constantly being around Elizabeth… He dreaded the implications. His beloved did aver her indifference, declaring what a lovely match the Captain would be for her friend Marleen or any other girl instead. But Will was too self-conscious to deceive himself – all the objections that had always kept her from attaching herself to Commodore Norrington were lacking in his deputy, who possessed everything she could see in her fiancé, and lacked all his possible or imagined faults.

And there was yet another thing adding to his dismay, though he chastised himself for even thinking of it. As unaltered as she rightfully claimed her affection for himself, as suspicious her conduct had been nevertheless. Not only her temporary engagement to the Commodore seemed to prove this, much worse for Will Turner's peace of mind was another episode. He had never found out about the events of the night on that nameless island together with Jack Sparrow to be perfectly satisfied. The prospect of certain death, a shocking amount of Rum, the company of a true pirate, 'daft' to be sure, but also disturbingly charming…

Will was too diffident to implore further than she would tell him herself, but his nagging fears were fed by a random remark of Jack himself, on that most wonderful of all days. 'Elizabeth, darling – it would never have worked between us – I'm sorry' – what was _that_ supposed to mean?

He loved her regardless, that wasn't the point. No matter what had happened in that night, it blurred nothing of her perfection in Will's eyes. He wasn't even sure if he truly wanted to know what had happened between them, although he would have welcomed sure proof that nothing had. For if it had, it was another sign of Elizabeth being not quite as steady as he would have wished, facing the long-time engagement ahead of them, with himself at sea for the greatest part of the years possibly. She was willing to go any length to achieve what she wanted, he knew _that_ , giving him hope – but had she shown the same determination to lure Jack into helping her? Jack, so much was certain, would never have said 'no', and who could blame him. He did not claim to be a gentleman, an honourable scoundrel maybe, but rejecting a lovely and desperate young lady? Their short stay in Tortuga had shown Will how popular Jack could be with the ladies (if this term fitted the women inhabiting that wretched place), and together with Elizabeth's firm will to rescue Will no matter what it would take – better not think about it, he reminded himself time and time again.

Had Elizabeth been able to explore the bottom of her fiancé's heart, she would have been shocked indeed, but also capable to clear up all misunderstandings immediately. _Nothing_ had happened in that night; she'd rather have kissed the lovely Commodore than take into consideration to let herself be conquered by _Jack Sparrow_! In fact she found the mere idea so thoroughly absurd that it had never crossed her mind to speak more of it than she already had.

She was quite fond of Jack, to be sure, but certainly not in any romantic sense. Not that he hadn't tried it on, of course he had, but even then she hadn't taken him serious. It was but an act, or compulsion maybe. She thought of him like some crazy black-sheep-of-the-family uncle, though twenty years younger than her father and as different at first sight as any man could be – but on the second, she saw several similarities. Both men had a sense of decorum that was bordering on the ridiculous – where her father tried to appear the perfect gentleman and often failed because he exaggerated so badly, Jack Sparrow did everything to give himself an air of utmost eccentricity, which was just as fake as Governor Swann's over-done dignity. Her father reigned Port Royal and thought himself to be incredibly successful in doing so, seemingly ignorant of the fact that it wasn't his own skill, but Commodore Norrington's brave and clever policy that had advanced the town so far. Jack on the other hand deemed himself to be a hero of the seas, a true libertine, ignoring that it was sheer luck and numerous coincidences that had spared him the noose over and over again.

But what they most had in common was a tender fondness on Elizabeth's side despite all their faults and follies which stood in sharp relief to the other men she knew, dearest Will, the excellent Commodore, or presently, the most pleasant Captain Stansfield, were all flawless and perfect in their own way. She couldn't but be endeared to those little imperfections that her father and Jack displayed so often, surrounded as they were by men who were their superior, and yet so utterly ignorant of this.

No, Will Turner had no reason to mistrust his worshipped Elizabeth, no reason at all. As extensive as her regard for the new Captain surely was, as firm was her will to line him up with Marleen, and she had no further interest in the man worth mentioning. So far, she hadn't yet succeeded; Marleen refused to play along and the Captain was probably still mourning for his loss, but it could only be a matter of time to make these two kindred spirits realise that they were meant for each other.

Marleen van Dyke on the other hand did not think so at all. She was well aware of Elizabeth's scheming, and perhaps this was the reason why she felt more reserve than she might otherwise have. Sure, the Captain was without doubt a very fine sort of fellow, dashing and smart. Still, if those traits had been enough to coax her out of her dislike to marry a sailor, she'd have gone straight for the Commodore instead, whom Captain Stansfield with all his merits wasn't fit to hold a candle to. Elizabeth had never accepted these objections; in her youth, her romantic ideal had been a pirate, and even after encountering real pirates who had thoroughly corrected her false expectations, she still saw no reason for any woman's reluctance of being a sailor's bride. Marleen's composed temper would accustom herself to the lovely Captain and she would finally see how narrow-minded her old views had been, for sure.

Until that, more pressing issues occupied her mind, namely the dire need of some profession for her beloved Will that would advance him as soon as possible. She wouldn't acknowledge it, but she understood what her father had tried to make intelligible to her – five, or heaven beware, _eight_ years were a long time for an engagement. She couldn't wait so long to become Mrs. William Turner; well, she _would_ wait, but nevertheless it was worth contemplating how the process might be quickened. She had suggested he could join the Navy, too, having no doubt that he would distinguish himself soon. But even this career path would take time, and she disliked the idea of parting from him. See him sail away from Port Royal with uncertain comeback – she was already worried enough for James Norrington's well-being, so how should she endure dearest Will's absence? Will on the other hand fancied a Navy career, too, finding it the only profession that held some prospects in store. _He_ did _not_ seem to mind a long time of separation, as she occasionally thought with some vexation, but mostly, she was too infatuated with him to feel any discord.

Dear Will – what a sweet boy he was! How timid! He _blushed_ when she addressed him tenderly, his soft brown eyes sort of hypnotised her, and as for his sweet shy kisses… No girl in the world had ever been kissed like that, Elizabeth was positively certain. How she could ever have considered taking any man but him was beyond her understanding.

Because even if she had eventually accepted James' proposal out of the necessity to save Will's life – if she was perfectly honest with herself, she had more than once contemplated saying yes without such an excuse. Why, she had contemplated it long before he had even asked her!

She had known he had a soft spot for her for at least a year before that, and had felt quite flattered for a start. Half of the girls in town would have given their right arm and their first-born to receive an offer of marriage from the famous Captain (as he had still been then), yet he had never looked at any other than herself – it was enough to tickle anybody's vanity, was it not?

He was famous, he was brilliant, he was young – while at the same time never really _seeming_ young in Elizabeth's eyes.

He had been twenty-three, the Dauntless' First Lieutenant and acting Captain when she had first met him, thirteen years her senior and therefore by definition ancient. Shortly after arriving in Port Royal, aged twenty-four and anyway standing in for his useless superior Captain Craddock, he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander, acting Head of Fort Charles and gotten the famous Interceptor. Only one year later Craddock had finally seen the light and officially resigned, so his deputy became the official Head of Fort Charles. Also, he had made excellent use of the Interceptor and a name for himself by purging the south-eastern Caribbean of practically all acts of piracy, so to nobody's surprise, at only twenty-six (and still twice as old as Elizabeth) he was made a Commander.

The next promotion followed like clockwork in the following year; he received a Captain's rank and a new, bigger ship, the Aurora, on which he had left Port Royal another year later to serve with distinction in the French and Indian War in the North. In one particularly crucial battle, the Aurora had kept at bay no less than five French men-of-war all by herself (and her Commodore's wits), and while she had got so severely battered in the process that he had been forced to sail back home on another ship, he was made a Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath for his great valour and unsurpassed ingenuity.

He had returned as a war hero, and for a week or so, little Elizabeth, only having turned sixteen, had fancied him quite a good deal. But as heroic as he might be as a soldier, as mildly boring he had been as company, either treating her like a child (which she of course resented!) or, worse even, talking to her like an adult about serious things that she had no clue of and absolutely no interest in.

With his name already a byword for lawfulness, he became acting Commodore for the South Eastern Garrisons sailing on the Dauntless, until eleven months later Commodore Sumner resigned at sixty-two (and thereby exactly twice as old as his successor) and he had become the official Commodore six weeks ago.

That was, in short, the story of Commodore James Norrington, illustrious from the outside, and quite dull when seen closer by. "It is not titles that make men illustrious, but men who make titles illustrious," he used to say himself, and Elizabeth could only sigh at the accuracy of this insight. He just never seemed to feel the exhilaration of the fight against piracy, the sheer excitement of combat and talked of his profession with the clinical soberness of a chartered accountant, if he talked about it at all. Because being responsible for the fort – and thereby a kind of fatherly figure for the town, secondary only to her father, the Governor – he seemed to take a much greater, at any rate livelier interest in the welfare of its inhabitants.

Elizabeth remembered that during the first year after their arrival on the island, she was prohibited from leaving the house by herself, and _if_ she had left it, then only in the carriage and accompanied by at least three armed footmen because it had just been too dangerous.

After ages of nameless oblivion, the tiny settlement had been duly dubbed 'Port Royal', which had been a grand name for such a desolate village, regularly raided by pirates and riddled by crime in the short intervals in between, without any order, any structure, any laws. There had not even been a proper shop – when the villagers had wanted something, they had procured it in the local tavern – or stolen it straightaway.

But the small fleet under Lieutenant Commander Norrington's command had put a stop to the frequent pirate raids that had kept the village from prospering in the past; there wasn't a soul in Port Royal, regardless how malevolent, that didn't credit him to be rather ingenious about his job. A brilliant strategic mind but ever so caring about the well-fare of his men, he avoided risky confrontations to spare his soldiers, but did not shrink away from the necessary actions either and won each one of them in a panache, with hardly any losses on side of the Royal Navy. Two thousand standing soldiers had also deterred more petty crimes among the denizens, so rather in passing, James had introduced law and order, so far unknown to the struggling villagers and not much appreciated at first.

"Nothing is more difficult and uncertain in its success than to introduce a new order of things. The innovator has for enemies all those who have done well under the old conditions, and lukewarm defenders in those who may do well under the new. But I have faith that the populace may be ignorant, but is capable of grasping the truth," the stricken Lieutenant Commander had wearily remarked. "Well, I should prefer to be loved rather than feared because the best fortress a man can possess is the affection of the people, but given the circumstances at hand, I don't mind being feared either. It is altogether a much safer state."

Yes, this was the way he talked – could anybody truly blame her for not being head over heels in love with this man? However, he had suited the action to the word and seen to it that a proper fortress was built to protect the town against pirate raids, and while he was at it, he had roads built, a hospital, and any number of municipal buildings. In contrast, Governor Swann had, in the same time, just managed to build himself a more proper mansion far up on the hill – 'above all the squalor', he had said.

Within a year Port Royal had been safe, within three years respectable, within five prosperous, and now, eight years after their arrival, it was the by far biggest town in the entire South East, buzzing with industry and comfortably rested on a certain amount of wealth, and didn't have its Governor to thank for that ascension.

Even Captain Stansfield of Kingstown – the area's leading place before Port Royal's rise – was impressed.

"I heard some of my men call this town as treasure trove, but I must say, I never believed a word of it," he remarked one afternoon while taking a walk with Elizabeth and Miss van Dyke in the hills and gazing down at the town.

Both young women nodded proudly. Marleen had lived most of her life in the northern colonies and only recently been to Willemstad, yet she had never felt more at home anywhere. Elizabeth on the other hand could scarcely remember England (and what she remembered had been full of drizzle and terrible drafts) and simply couldn't imagine a prettier place than her home island.

"I've been here only once, more than seven years ago – with Kingstown being so close I never really needed to make a stop here – and while old Jimmy Norrington surely did his thumping best, it was a wretched place altogether then. Now look at it. It's bloody rich! A man can make a fortune merely by settling here."

"James says that it is the common good and not private gain that makes cities great," Elizabeth objected, slightly rankled by the Captain's flippant nicknaming.

Captain Stansfield laughed. "It's not him saying that but old Cicero!"

"No, not Cicero. I forgot who it was exactly, but it wasn't him. He told me."

"I can see now why you rejected him. A suitor should not lecture his fair lady but make love to her instead."

"He didn't _lecture_ me."

Marleen smiled. "I believe he rather tried to improve her mind."

"Even worse! Did he find fault with your mind then, that he thought he had to improve it?" Captain Stansfield teased good-humouredly with a wink in his eye.

"If you knew my mind, you'd find it needs lots of improvement," Elizabeth sighed.

"Your modesty does you credit, Miss Swann, but I must remain unconvinced."

But Elizabeth knew that _modesty_ really wasn't her forte, just as well as she knew that James had neither lectured her nor tried to change her in essence. If anything, he had wished to broaden her mind which was as noble an effort as it had been futile.

If there was a lesson to be learnt in all this, it must be that a man and a woman had to be on the same page of the same sort of books. The Commodore read serious books about serious subjects, about politics, about warfare, about the public good. Elizabeth on the other hand was a voracious reader of embarrassing novels that she would hide from anyone, featuring pirates and ghosts and foremost, star-struck lovers. He had recommended Milton and Dante to her, and she was sure he would have been appalled had he known that the latter's vivid descriptions of hell had only made her spine tingle, while the former had incited a kind of fleeting sympathy for the devil.

Regardless, she had been vaguely aware that the Commander had a soft spot for her. Ever so correct in manners and attitude, he had got self-conscious in her company. Sometimes he had positively avoided looking at her – on other occasions, she had found him gazing at her lost in thought. He had blushed when she had come too close for being entirely proper and every now and then, he had forgotten what he was about to say to her in mid-sentence.

When she had first noticed his changed behaviour, she hadn't thought about it at all. Assisted by quantities of her much-loved novels, however, she had thought she understood why he would act so weird, and amused herself by puzzling him some more, by winking at him, by 'accidentally' grazing his arm, by urging him to dance with her when her father had given a party. Afterwards, she had always been duly ashamed with herself for such behaviour – because she had known it wasn't proper, and what was more: because, with the help of the same embarrassing romance novels that had informed her the Commodore was not the man for her, she had realised she had developed a bit of a crush herself.

Unfortunately, it hadn't been her old friend James whom she had begun dreaming of. It was her _other_ old friend, of whom she saw far too little for her liking. Will. William Martin Turner. The apprentice of Mr Brown, the blacksmith. No matter how hard she had tried to revive their friendship of old, the man wasn't to be moved to show the slightest inclination for her, a fact that had only kindled her interest.

On the day of James' proposal – the day which had started it all, the day she had first encountered Jack and got herself kidnapped by Barbossa – she had been particularly vexed by his apparent lack of interest. She hadn't been in a good mood to begin with, strangled by a dress her father had bought her for the occasion and embarrassed by his transparent ulterior motives, and then poor Will's shyness had exasperated her even more. Who did he think he was anyway? He didn't care for her, alright, but who was _she_ to dangle after a mere boy, _she_ had grown-up men courting her!

James' promotion ceremony had been as boring as any, hundreds of periwigged soldiers prancing about, and poor James in the thick of it, probably having the time of his life but looking as deadly seriously as if he didn't receive a promotion but a death sentence. Afterwards he had asked her for a private word – and thanks to her lecture, she had been certain to know what he had in mind, but even in hindsight she couldn't decide whether it had been only the blasted corset or the prospect making her feel increasingly dizzy and her mind racing – did she want to marry him? Not really. But did she want to rebuff him? Just as certainly she did not. Was it out of place to ask for a respite?

Copiously, he had begun to speak about his promotion, how it had made him realise what he had not yet achieved – Elizabeth had barely listened, distraught by her own musings and quite breathless. "A marriage to a fine woman. – You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth…"

What a nice thing to say, if lacking entirely in passion or romance. She hadn't commented though but instead wheezed, "I can't breathe –"

But he had just smiled timidly and turned away. "Yes, I'm a bit nervous myself…"

She hadn't heard what else he might have been saying and passed out cold, her last thought being, 'Oh, isn't this just typical, I keel over during my first ever proposal!'

No one could say Elizabeth Swann lacked imagination, but she couldn't picture to herself what would have happened if she had not fallen down that afternoon. For a start the pirate medallion wouldn't have fallen into the sea and called out for Barbossa and his men and she wouldn't have met Jack. The Black Pearl wouldn't have assailed Port Royal and she would not have been kidnapped and Will would not have followed her – and if it hadn't been for their consequent mutual adventures, would he ever have dared declaring his love for her after all? And if he hadn't done that, would she have kept on pining for him, and if so, for how long?

Yes, when she had eventually accepted James' proposal, she had done so with a mind to see dear Will rescued – but with no hidden agenda further than that. She hadn't known he did care for her after all, and without him, there would have been no good reason not to marry James. Under different circumstances, she would have asked for more time, alright, because she didn't feel grown-up enough to be the mistress of any household, let alone the Commodore's, but with Will's life at stake, she didn't see how she could ask James to wait for another three years.

Still, he – James – had seen right through her. He had taken her answer with disbelief and seized the first opportunity to appeal to her, ask her about her lack of sincerity. And this was the part which burdened her conscience like no other. She hadn't exactly _lied_ when telling him that she would have married him however he had decided – for had they _not_ set out to follow the Black Pearl and therefore her beloved Will, he would have been doomed and the only logical reason for Elizabeth's reluctance to become Mrs. Norrington would have died with him.

Still, she felt burning shame when recollecting that conversation. It wasn't in James' nature to come out of his shell, so even the final consent of his beloved hadn't made him dance with joy. But there had been a glow in his eyes and on his cheeks, some movements quite unguarded that had betrayed his happiness; Elizabeth had spotted them very well. He was a _fine_ man, she repeated once again to herself, with a little sigh and a rush of complexion – why, oh why, had she been inflicted to hurt the feelings of this best of all men?

He deserved a truly loving heart, no woman could be good enough to match such virtues, especially not somebody like herself. Next to her desire to see Will make a fortune within the next two years, there was only one matter pressing her so badly – seeing James becoming truly happy. But both goals seemed equally hard to accomplish.

Briefly, to be precise: before Captain Stansfield's arrival, Governor Swann had intended to alleviate his daughter's heart and assist his future son-in-law's career by buying him a commission to join the higher ranks of His Majesty's Navy, therefore promoting Elizabeth's sooner happiness. He wouldn't endure to see his dearest child fade away with time and weariness. But right now, he intended to wait a little longer, until Commodore Norrington's return at least. As long as Captain Stansfield was around, he wouldn't give up hope that Elizabeth could fall for him, and until that, he'd do nothing that could increase her optimism.

Some days later, a ball was to take place in the fort and Governor Swann set great hopes on the occasion. Dancing, he believed, was the natural gateway to romance, and he intended to see to it that his child would dance as many dances as possible with the gallant captain. Elizabeth on the other hand, usually quite fond of balls and of dancing in particular, could not have cared less for a ball to which her fiancé had not been invited, and where she'd be expected to dance with dull gentlemen and inapt officers for hours and hours. It was different when James – _the Commodore_ (she really ought to get used to call him that) – was around; he was a very fine dancer and she had always been happy to dance with _him_. At least Marleen and Captain Stansfield would come, too, and Elizabeth would be able to continue with her little plan to make her friend and the Captain fall madly in love with each other. No matter what the young lady always professed – Elizabeth knew for sure that Marleen had as great a heart as any other woman. Maybe it took some more wiles to capture it, but she didn't doubt the Captain's skills to seize his opportunity.

She'd only have to prevent her father from interfering, otherwise _she_ 'd be stuck with Captain Stansfield the whole evening, which must not happen. Nothing must divert his focus from Marleen, and there'd be enough girls that Elizabeth would be forced to take care of. She'd have to arrange lots of dances for all the little Miss Fairchilds, Elliotts or Martins to make sure that they were busy and stayed away from the Captain.

"Where's your dancing card, Marleen?" she asked innocently.

"My dear Lizzy, don't get started with _that_ again."

"I don't know what you are talking about. I'm merely curious who of these fine gentlemen has asked you for a dance."

Marleen arched an eyebrow, "Ah, I see. Well, I can easily tell you. Lieutenant Gillette has, and so have Lieutenant Harper and Mr. William Perkins, Mr. Bradshaw, Sergeant Fisher, Mr. Zinn and Mr. Brooder. Are you content?"

"Captain Stansfield has not asked you?" Elizabeth cried anxiously, "That's very bad of him! I shall immediately –"

"No, you shall not, Lizzy. For one because it isn't your place and then because he has indeed asked me already."

"But why didn't you say so?"

"Because you are much too keen to hear it anyway. Listen, I really wish you would stop this nonsense – it is quite embarrassing for me."

Elizabeth had the grace to blush lightly, but this didn't keep her from turning her friend's words just as she pleased. 'Embarrassing' – in her notion, this could only mean that Marleen in fact had some interest in the Captain that she didn't want to be exposed, and she prided herself for the delicacy not to press the matter any further. Nevertheless, she watched with delight when the two of them danced together, casting Marleen enthusiastic and Captain Stansfield encouraging glances.

She danced with the man only once this evening – she had accepted even Mr. Carmichael as a partner to avoid more than one dance with the Captain. Mr. Carmichael was a plump bachelor of fifty-one years and a horrid dancer, but the Captain should spend as much time as possible with Marleen and Elizabeth was willing to go to any length to accomplish that end.

Naturally, her father was _not_ happy with the course the evening was taking. At one point he took her aside and remarked quietly, "My dear child, why do you engage every dancer in the whole room but the Captain? He must have asked you at least four times!"

"But Papa, don't blame _me_ , please. It isn't my fault that other gentlemen have asked me earlier on, and really, if _I_ don't dance with poor Mr. Carmichael, no other girl will and he'd be on his own for the entire ball. Besides, the Captain isn't a particularly fine dancer."

"Neither is Mr. Carmichael, dear."

"No, he's disgraceful, so my dancing with him can well be regarded as an act of charity. And don't you and James always urge me to be more charitable?"

He couldn't help it and smiled. "Charitable? So all your dancing is as unselfish as can be?"

"Absolutely!" She beamed merrily, completely missing the irony in her father's comment. "Since the Commodore is gone, _you_ are the only fine dancer in the whole of Port Royal, and as it would surely be considered highly improper for me to dance with _you_ , I have to content myself with young men stepping on my feet."

"Lieutenant Gillette dances very well, too, doesn't he?"

"He's not bad, but a good partner doesn't only dance well but talks pleasantly, and in that department he lacks entirely. Can you imagine that he actually _congratulated_ me for breaking off the engagement to James – the Commodore I mean?! I'm sure he meant no offence, but it put me quite out all the same."

He let it pass and sighed. He had actually hoped that the absence of her fiancé would tempt Elizabeth to be a little more open for the Captain's charms, but had to realise that it had the opposite effect. Perhaps, he contemplated, it would be more useful to obtain an invitation for young Mr. Turner to the next ball, so she could see the difference between the somewhat clumsy and inexperienced boy and the other, exceedingly superior guests. True, Captain Stansfield was no born dancer – which was a pity, as Elizabeth was very fond of it – and he surely made not half as good a figure on the dance floor as the good Commodore. But he would easily cut out the young blacksmith nevertheless, who certainly had never attended a ball in his whole life.

He knew that his daughter found him to be a snob, and she wasn't wrong in assuming so either. What she failed to realise though was that she was a snob herself in many ways. At least the Governor was _aware_ of his preferences, whereas Elizabeth fancied balls and dancing, elegant dresses and educated conversations. Mr. Turner could offer her nothing of all this, and although she might find his lack of standing romantic _now_ , it was bound to tire her sooner or later. No, she had quite a distinct sense of class; that consciousness made her idolise the gap between herself and the young craftsman in the first place. What distinguished him most in her eyes was his being different from herself, making him exotic and exciting in her eyes – but when had happy conjugal life ever been solidly founded on such feeble effects? There would come the day when she would be dissatisfied with her own superior sense opposed to his naiveté, when she was going to positively despise her husband's simplicity. One could achieve a better place in life and be happy with it, but lowering oneself inescapably led to dismay and regret, the old gentleman thought sadly while watching his great hope Captain Stansfield dancing with the regrettably beautiful Miss van Dyke, looking as if he was very much enjoying himself. And though, as Tully remarks, the populace may be ignorant, it is capable of grasping the truth and readily yields when a man, worthy of confidence, lays the truth before it.

Niccolo Machiavelli

The news about Commodore Norrington's charming deputy had spread with lightning speed within the small community of Port Royal, and there was hardly a man or woman not eager to set eyes on him at last. He was praised for his military achievements, said to be dashingly good-looking, and even his pleasant manners couldn't be commended in a warmer fashion, although only few persons could boast to have encountered the man himself yet.

But that was easily remedied by a string of invitations and parties, and soon there was going to be a huge ball in the fortress, and one could see if he really was as fine a dancer as the general opinion already imputed on him.

"A new broom sweeps well," one of the ensigns of Fort Charles put it, but was immediately hushed by his comrades, because Captain Stansfield had a natural talent to make himself agreeable to everyone. He treated the stuffy aldermen with respect, their wives with deference, the sailors regardless of their rank with jovial camaraderie and the women with gallantry, wit or earnestness, depending on the lady's disposition.

"Pity he's a commoner's son," the Governor remarked to his daughter, "he'd have been an ornament to St. James's Court."

"You are such a snob, Papa," the girl giggled.

"I am not!" he defended himself knowing that she was right. "I am just saying that he cuts a very gallant figure."

Elizabeth, thinking of her friend Marleen, smiled and nodded. "He does absolutely," she said, unwitting how much pleasure the remark gave her father.

It was quite astounding how many people had set their hearts on the good Captain in one way or another; Governor Swann hoping to catch him for his daughter and Elizabeth eager to make him fall in love with her friend Marleen weren't by far the only ones. A good number of those girls desperately fancying the Commodore transferred their infatuation to his deputy (the others remained steadfast, now that he was available again...), and even if they were a minority, even some of the soldiers in the fort would have traded their master for the much more indulgent stand-in.

The Commodore had any number of strong convictions that the Captain did not uphold in the same way. For example, all soldiers were forbidden to frequent the local brothels, which were situated a little out of town and thereby out of the head of fort's jurisdiction. He was aware that he couldn't put a stop to his men going anyway, but there were severe penalties for those who were caught. Captain Stansfield's credo on the other hand was that a man wasn't accountable to his superior officer for what he did in his leisure time.

Commodore Norrington clearly didn't believe in leisure time at any rate, prescribing lots and lots of training for the soldiers, be it in sword-fighting, target practise with the muskets, every imaginable kind of drill, or, indeed, swimming. _He_ thought it imperative for his soldiers to at least _try_ to learn how to swim. Captain Stansfield entirely failed to see the point. "If, heaven beware, your ship capsizes in the middle of the ocean – what good is it to prologue your struggles for a little while until you drown anyway?" he asked, mystified, and turned the mandatory classes into voluntary ones. He also cut down the amount of time spent on other practise, arguing that happy men were better fighters and receiving some applause for that measure.

Then there was the harbour master and his lot who had fought a running battle against the Commodore by insisting that they could impossibly prevent imposters giving false names when anchoring and thereby, perhaps, sheltering one or two wanted criminals, now and then. That they were usually compensated generously for their lack of trouble was beside the question, was it not? Well, Captain Stansfield was a realist and made it known that he cared only for the smooth running of the port, not so much for the details how that end was achieved.

And thus it happened that only four weeks into his temporary sojourn, he was quite the favourite with pretty much everybody who had ever met him. Only one heart in the whole of Port Royal was somewhat disquieted by Captain Stansfield's stay. All the stories about him and his great deeds only deepened young Will Turner's anxiety, who had met him one morning when the praised Captain had come to Mr. Brown, Will's alleged master, to order a good sword.

The Captain had been very agreeable indeed; he was not at all aloof like Commodore Norrington, but easy-going and ingenuous, chatting animatedly about blades and techniques and commending Will for his excellent knowledge. But the friendlier he had been, the more uneasy Will had become – such a man constantly being around Elizabeth… He dreaded the implications. His beloved did aver her indifference, declaring what a lovely match the Captain would be for her friend Marleen – or any other girl – instead. But Will was too self-conscious to deceive himself – all the objections that had always kept her from attaching herself to Commodore Norrington were lacking in his deputy, who possessed everything she could see in her fiancé, and lacked all his possible or imagined faults.

And there was yet another thing adding to his disquiet, though he chastised himself for even thinking it. As unaltered as she claimed her affection for himself, as suspicious her conduct had been nevertheless. Not only her temporary engagement to the Commodore seemed to prove this, but much worse for Will Turner's peace of mind was another episode. He had never found out about the events of the night on that nameless island together with Jack Sparrow to be perfectly at ease. The prospect of certain death, a shocking amount of rum, the company of a true pirate, 'daft' to be sure, but also disturbingly charming…

Will was too diffident to implore further than she would tell him by her own volition, but his nagging fears were fed by a random remark of the man himself, on that most wonderful of all days. 'Elizabeth, darling – it would never have worked between us – I'm sorry' – what was _that_ supposed to mean?!

He loved her regardless, of course; that wasn't the point. No matter what had come to pass in that night, it blurred nothing of her perfection in Will's eyes. He wasn't even sure if he truly wanted to know what had happened between them, although he would have welcomed sure proof that nothing had. For if it had, it was another sign of Elizabeth being not quite as steady as he would have wished, facing the long-time engagement ahead of them, with himself at sea for the greatest part of the years possibly. She was willing to go any length to achieve what she wanted, he knew _that_ , giving him hope – but had she shown the same determination to lure Jack into helping her? Jack, so much was certain, would never have said 'no', and who could blame him. He did not claim to be a gentleman, an honourable scoundrel maybe, but rejecting a lovely and desperate young lady? Their short stay in Tortuga had shown Will how popular Jack could be with the ladies (if this term fitted the women inhabiting that wicked place), and together with Elizabeth's firm will to rescue Will no matter what it would take...

Had Elizabeth been able to explore the bottom of her fiancé's heart, she would have been shocked indeed, but also capable to clear up all misunderstandings immediately. _Nothing_ had happened in that night; she'd much rather have kissed the Commodore than let herself be conquered by _Jack Sparrow_! In fact the mere idea was so thoroughly absurd that it had never crossed her mind to speak more of it than she already had.

She was quite fond of Jack, to be sure, but certainly not in any romantic sense. Not that he hadn't tried it on, of course he had, but even then she hadn't taken him serious. It was but an act, or compulsion maybe. She thought of him like some crazy black-sheep-of-the-family uncle, though twenty years younger than her father and as different at first sight as any man could be – but on the second, she saw several similarities. Both men had a sense of decorum that was bordering on the ridiculous – where her father tried to appear the perfect gentleman and often failed because he exaggerated so badly, Jack Sparrow did everything to give himself an air of utmost eccentricity, which was just as fake as Governor Swann's over-done dignity. Her father reigned Port Royal and thought himself to be incredibly successful in doing so, seemingly ignorant of the fact that it wasn't his own skill, but Commodore Norrington's brave and clever policy that had advanced the town so far. Jack on the other hand deemed himself to be a hero of the seas, a true libertine, ignoring that it was sheer luck and numerous coincidences that had spared him the noose over and over again.

But what they most had in common was a tender fondness on Elizabeth's part despite all their faults and follies which stood in sharp relief to the unassailable perfection of the other men she knew. Dearest Will, the excellent Commodore, or presently, the most pleasant Captain Stansfield, were all flawless and perfect in their own way. She couldn't but be endeared to those little imperfections that her father and Jack displayed so often, surrounded as they were by men who were their superior, and yet so utterly ignorant of this.

No, Will Turner had no reason to mistrust his worshipped Elizabeth, no reason at all. As extensive as her regard for the new Captain surely was, as firm was her will to line him up with Marleen, and she had no further interest in the man worth mentioning. So far, she hadn't yet succeeded; Marleen refused to play along and the Captain was too playful to be easily caught in something so serious as love, but it could only be a matter of time to make these two kindred spirits realise that they were meant for each other.

The female part of that intended couple incidentally didn't think so at all. She was well aware of Elizabeth's scheming, and perhaps this was the reason why she felt more reserve than she might otherwise have. Sure, the Captain was without doubt a very fine sort of fellow, dashing and smart. Still, if those traits had been enough to dissuade her of her dislike to marry a sailor, she'd have gone straight for the Commodore instead, whom Captain Stansfield with all his merits wasn't fit to hold a candle to. Elizabeth had never accepted these objections; in her youth, her romantic ideal had been a pirate, and even after encountering real pirates who had thoroughly corrected her false expectations, she still saw no reason for any woman's reluctance of being a sailor's bride. Marleen's composed temper would accustom herself to the lovely Captain and she would finally see how narrow-minded her old views had been, for sure.

Until that, more pressing issues occupied her mind, namely the dire need of some profession for her beloved Will that would advance him as soon as possible. She wouldn't acknowledge it, but she understood what her father had tried to make intelligible to her – five, or heaven beware, _eight_ years were a long time for an engagement. She couldn't wait so long to become Mrs. William Turner; well, she _would_ wait, but nevertheless it was worth contemplating how the process might be quickened. She had suggested he could join the Navy, too, having no doubt that he would distinguish himself soon. But even this career path would take time, and she disliked the idea of parting from him. See him sail away from Port Royal with uncertain comeback – she was already worried enough for James Norrington's well-being, so how should she endure dearest Will's absence? Will on the other hand fancied a Navy career, too, finding it the only profession that held some prospects in store. _He_ did _not_ seem to mind a long time of separation, as she occasionally thought with some vexation, but mostly, she was too infatuated with him to feel any discord.

Dear Will – what a sweet boy he was! How timid! He _blushed_ when she addressed him tenderly, his soft brown eyes sort of hypnotised her, and as for his sweet shy kisses… How she could ever have considered taking any man but him was beyond her understanding.

Because even if she had eventually accepted James' proposal out of the necessity to save Will's life – if she was perfectly honest with herself, she had more than once contemplated saying yes without such an excuse. Why, she had contemplated it long before he had even asked her!

She had known he had a soft spot for her for at least a year before that, and had felt quite flattered for a start. Half of the girls in town would have given their right arm and their first-born to receive an offer of marriage from the famous Captain (as he had still been then), yet he had never looked at any other than herself – it was enough to tickle anybody's vanity, was it not?

He was famous, he was brilliant, he was young – while at the same time never really _seeming_ young in Elizabeth's eyes.

He had been twenty-three, the Dauntless' First Lieutenant and acting Captain when she had first met him, thirteen years her senior and therefore by definition ancient. Shortly after arriving in Port Royal, aged twenty-four and anyway standing in for his useless superior Captain Craddock, he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander, acting head of the fort and gotten the famous Interceptor. Only one year later Craddock had finally seen the light and officially resigned, so his deputy became the official Head of Fort Charles. Also, he had made excellent use of the Interceptor and a name for himself by purging the south-eastern Caribbean of practically all acts of piracy, so to nobody's surprise, at only twenty-six (and still twice as old as Elizabeth) he was made a Commander.

The next promotion followed like clockwork in the following year; he received a Captain's rank and a new, bigger ship, the Aurora, on which he had left Port Royal another year later to serve with distinction in the French and Indian War in the North. In one particularly crucial battle, the Aurora had kept at bay no less than five French men-of-war all by herself (and her Commodore's wits), and while she had got so severely battered in the process that he had been forced to sail back home on another ship, he was made a Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath for his great valour and unsurpassed ingenuity.

He had returned as a war hero, and for a week or so, little Elizabeth, only having turned sixteen, had fancied him quite a good deal. But as heroic as he might be as a soldier, as mildly boring he had been as company, either treating her like a child (which she of course resented!) or, worse even, talking to her like an adult about serious things that she had no clue of and absolutely no interest in.

With his name already a byword for lawfulness, he became acting Commodore for the South Eastern Garrisons sailing on the Dauntless, until eleven months later Commodore Sumner resigned at sixty-two (and thereby exactly twice as old as his successor) and he had become the official Commodore six weeks ago.

That was, in short, the story of Commodore James Norrington, illustrious from the outside, and quite dull when seen close-by. "It is not titles that make men illustrious, but men who make titles illustrious," he used to say himself, and Elizabeth could only sigh at the accuracy of this insight. He just never seemed to feel the exhilaration of the fight against piracy, the sheer excitement of combat and talked of his profession with the clinical soberness of a chartered accountant, if he talked about it at all. Because being responsible for the fort – and thereby a kind of fatherly figure for the town, secondary only to her father, the Governor – he seemed to take a much greater, at any rate livelier interest in the welfare of its inhabitants.

Elizabeth remembered that during the first year after their arrival on the island, she was prohibited from leaving the house by herself, and _if_ she had left it, then only in the carriage and accompanied by at least three armed footmen because it had just been too dangerous.

After ages of nameless oblivion, the tiny settlement had been duly dubbed 'Port Royal', which had been a grand name for such a desolate village, regularly raided by pirates and riddled by crime in the short intervals in between, without any order, any structure, any laws. There had not even been a proper shop – when the villagers had wanted something, they had bartered for it in the local tavern – or stolen it straightaway.

But the small fleet under Lieutenant Commander Norrington's command had put a stop to the frequent pirate raids that had kept the village from prospering in the past; there wasn't a soul in Port Royal, regardless how malevolent, that didn't credit him to be rather ingenious about his job. A brilliant strategic mind but ever so caring about the well-fare of his men, he avoided risky confrontations to spare his soldiers, but did not shrink away from the necessary actions either and won each one of them in a panache, with hardly any losses on side of the Royal Navy. Two thousand standing soldiers had also deterred more petty crimes among the denizens, so rather in passing, he had introduced law and order, so far unknown to the struggling villagers and not much appreciated at first.

"Nothing is more difficult and uncertain in its success than to introduce a new order of things. The innovator has for enemies all those who have done well under the old conditions, and lukewarm defenders in those who may do well under the new," the stricken Lieutenant Commander had wearily remarked. "Well, I should prefer to be loved rather than feared because the best fortress a man can possess is the affection of the people, but given the circumstances at hand, I don't mind being feared either. It is altogether a much safer state."

Yes, this was the way he talked – could anybody truly blame her for not being head over heels in love with this man? However, he had suited the action to the word and seen to it that a proper fortress was built to protect the town against pirate raids, and while he was at it, he had roads built, a hospital, and any number of municipal buildings. In contrast, Governor Swann had, in the same time, just managed to build himself a more proper mansion far up on the hill – 'above all the squalor', he had said.

Within a year Port Royal had been safe, within three years respectable, within five prosperous, and now, eight years after their arrival, it was the by far biggest town in the entire South East, buzzing with industry and comfortably rested on a certain amount of wealth, and didn't have its Governor to thank for that ascension.

Even Captain Stansfield of Kingstown – the area's leading place before Port Royal's rise – was impressed.

"I heard some of my men call this town as treasure trove, but I must say, I never believed a word of it," he remarked one afternoon while taking a walk with Elizabeth and Miss van Dyke in the hills and gazing down at the town.

Both young women nodded proudly. Marleen had lived most of her life in the northern colonies and only recently been to Willemstad, yet she had never felt more at home anywhere. Elizabeth on the other hand could scarcely remember England (and what she remembered had been full of drizzle and terrible drafts) and simply couldn't imagine a prettier place than her home island.

"I've been here only once, more than seven years ago – with Kingstown being so close I never really needed to make a stop here – and while old Jimmy Norrington surely did his thumping best, it was a wretched place altogether then. Now look at it. It's bloody rich! A man can make a fortune merely by settling here."

"James says that it is the common good and not private gain that makes cities great," Elizabeth objected, slightly rankled by the Captain's flippant nicknaming.

Captain Stansfield laughed. "It's not him saying that but old Cicero!"

"No, not Cicero. I forgot who it was exactly, but it wasn't him. He told me."

"I can see now why you rejected him. A suitor should not lecture his fair lady but make love to her instead."

"He didn't _lecture_ me."

Marleen smiled. "I believe he rather tried to improve her mind."

"Even worse! Did he find fault with your mind then, that he thought he had to improve it?" Captain Stansfield teased good-humouredly with a wink in his eye.

"If you knew my mind, you'd find it needs lots of improvement," Elizabeth sighed.

"Your modesty does you credit, Miss Swann, but I must remain unconvinced."

But Elizabeth knew that _modesty_ really wasn't her forte, just as well as she knew that James had neither lectured her nor tried to change her in essence. If anything, he had wished to broaden her mind which was as noble an effort as it had been futile.

If there was a lesson to be learnt in all this, it must be that a man and a woman had to be on the same page of the same sort of books. The Commodore read serious books about serious subjects, about politics, about warfare, about the public good. Elizabeth on the other hand was a voracious reader of embarrassing novels that she would hide from anyone, featuring pirates and ghosts and foremost, star-struck lovers. He had recommended Milton and Dante to her, and she was sure he would have been appalled had he known that the latter's vivid descriptions of hell had only made her spine tingle, while the former had incited a kind of fleeting sympathy for the devil.

Regardless, she had been vaguely aware that the acting Commodore, as he had been then, had a little crush on her. Ever so correct in manners and attitude, he had got self-conscious in her company. Sometimes he had positively avoided looking at her – on other occasions, she had found him gazing at her lost in thought. He had blushed when she had come too close for being entirely proper and every now and then, he had forgotten what he was about to say to her in mid-sentence.

When she had first noticed his changed behaviour, she hadn't thought about it at all. Assisted by quantities of her much-loved novels, however, she had thought she understood why he would act so weird, and amused herself by puzzling him some more, by winking at him, by 'accidentally' grazing his arm, by urging him to dance with her when her father had given a party. Afterwards, she had always been duly ashamed with herself for such behaviour – because she had known it wasn't proper, and what was more: because, with the help of the same embarrassing romance novels which had informed her that James was not the man for her, she had realised she had developed a bit of a crush herself.

Unfortunately, it hadn't been her old friend James whom she had begun dreaming of. It was her _other_ old friend, of whom she saw far too little for her liking. Will. William Martin Turner. The apprentice of Mr Brown, the blacksmith. No matter how hard she had tried to revive their friendship of old, the man wasn't to be moved to show the slightest inclination for her, a fact that had only kindled her interest.

On the day of James' proposal – the day which had started it all, the day she had first encountered Jack and got herself kidnapped by Barbossa – she had been particularly vexed by his apparent lack of interest. She hadn't been in a good mood to begin with, strangled by a dress her father had bought her for the occasion and embarrassed by his transparent ulterior motives, and then poor Will's shyness had exasperated her even more. Who did he think he was anyway? He didn't care for her, alright, but who was _she_ to dangle after a mere boy, _she_ had grown-up men courting her!

James' promotion ceremony had been as boring as any, hundreds of periwigged soldiers prancing about in the searing heat, and poor James in the thick of it, probably having the time of his life but looking as deadly seriously as if he didn't receive a promotion but a death sentence. Afterwards he had asked her for a private word – and thanks to her lecture, she had been certain to know what he had in mind, but even in hindsight she couldn't decide whether it had been only the blasted corset or the prospect making her feel increasingly dizzy and her mind racing – did she want to marry him? Not really. But did she want to rebuff him? Just as certainly she did not. Was it out of place to ask for a respite?

Copiously, he had begun to speak about his promotion, how it had made him realise what he had not yet achieved – Elizabeth had barely listened, distraught by her own musings and quite breathless. "A marriage to a fine woman. – You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth…"

What a nice thing to say, if lacking entirely in passion or romance. She hadn't commented though but instead wheezed, "I can't breathe –"

But he had just smiled timidly and turned away. "Yes, I'm a bit nervous myself…"

She hadn't heard what else he might have been saying and passed out cold, her last thought being, 'Oh, isn't this just typical, I keel over during my first ever proposal!'

No one could say Elizabeth Swann lacked imagination, but she couldn't picture to herself what would have happened if she had not fallen down that afternoon. For a start the pirate medallion wouldn't have fallen into the sea and called out for Barbossa and his men and she wouldn't have met Jack. The Black Pearl wouldn't have assailed Port Royal and she would not have been kidnapped and Will would not have followed her – and if it hadn't been for their consequent mutual adventures, would he ever have dared declaring his love for her after all? And if he hadn't done that, would she have kept on pining for him, and if so, for how long?

Yes, when she had eventually accepted James' proposal, she had done so with a mind to see dear Will rescued – but with no hidden agenda further than that. She hadn't known he did care for her after all, and without him, there would have been no good reason not to marry James. Under different circumstances, she would have asked for more time, alright, because she didn't feel grown-up enough to be the mistress of any household, let alone the Commodore's, but with Will's life at stake, she had seen no possibility to ask James to wait for another three years.

Still, he – James – had seen right through her. He had taken her answer with disbelief and seized the first opportunity to appeal to her, ask her about her lack of sincerity. And this was the part which burdened her conscience like no other. She hadn't exactly _lied_ when telling him that she would have married him however he had decided – but she hadn't been honest either. She hadn't told him that he was only the number two on her list of eligible husbands and that she wanted him to save the number one for her. Yes, she would have kept her word if he had insisted – but hadn't she known right from the start that _he_ would never have kept her to her word?!

O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault! She felt burning shame when recollecting that conversation. It wasn't in James' nature to come out of his shell, so even the final consent of his beloved hadn't made him dance with joy. But there had been a glow in his eyes and on his cheeks, some movements quite unguarded that had betrayed his happiness; Elizabeth had spotted them very well. He was a _fine_ man, she repeated once again to herself, with a little sigh and a rush of complexion – why, oh why, had she been inflicted to hurt the feelings of this best of all men?

He deserved a truly loving heart; no woman could be good enough to match such virtues, especially not somebody like herself. Next to her desire to see Will make a fortune within the next two years, there was only one matter pressing her so badly – seeing James becoming truly happy. But both goals seemed equally hard to accomplish.

Some days later, a ball was to take place in the fort and Governor Swann set great hopes on the occasion. Dancing, he believed, was the natural gateway to romance, and he intended to see to it that his child would dance as many dances as possible with the gallant captain. Elizabeth on the other hand, usually quite fond of balls and of dancing in particular, could not have cared less for a ball to which her fiancé had not been invited, and where she'd be expected to dance with dull gentlemen and inapt officers for hours and hours. It was different when James – _the Commodore_ (she really ought to get used to call him that) – was around; he was a very fine dancer and she had always been happy to dance with _him_. At least Marleen and Captain Stansfield would come, too, and Elizabeth would be able to continue with her little plan to make her friend and the Captain fall madly in love with each other. No matter what the young lady always professed – Elizabeth knew for sure that Marleen had as great a heart as any other woman. Maybe it took some more wiles to capture it, but she didn't doubt the Captain's skills to seize his opportunity.

She'd only have to prevent her father from interfering, otherwise _she_ 'd be stuck with Captain Stansfield the whole evening, which must not happen. Nothing must divert his focus from Marleen, and there'd be enough girls that Elizabeth would be forced to take care of. She'd have to arrange lots of dances for all the little Miss Fairchilds, Elliotts or Martins to make sure that they were busy and stayed away from the Captain.

"Where's your dancing card, Marleen?" she asked innocently.

"My dear Lizzy, don't get started with _that_ again."

"I don't know what you are talking about. I'm merely curious who of these fine gentlemen has asked you for a dance."

Marleen arched an eyebrow, "Ah, I see. Well, I can easily tell you. Lieutenant Gillette has, and so have Lieutenant Harper and Mr. William Perkins, Mr. Bradshaw, Sergeant Fisher, Mr. Zinn and Mr. Brooder. Are you content?"

"Captain Stansfield has not asked you?" Elizabeth cried anxiously, "That's very bad of him! I shall immediately –"

"No, you shall not, Lizzy. For one because it isn't your place and then because he has indeed asked me already."

"But why didn't you say so?"

"Because you are much too keen to hear it anyway. Listen, I really wish you would stop this nonsense – it is quite embarrassing for me."

Elizabeth had the grace to blush lightly, but this didn't keep her from turning her friend's words just as she pleased. 'Embarrassing' – in her notion, this could only mean that Marleen in fact had some interest in the Captain that she didn't want to be exposed, and she prided herself for the delicacy not to press the matter any further. Nevertheless, she watched with delight when the two of them danced together, casting Marleen enthusiastic and Captain Stansfield encouraging glances.

She danced with the man only once this evening – she had accepted even Mr. Carmichael as a partner to avoid more than one dance with the Captain. Mr. Carmichael was a plump bachelor of fifty-one years and a horrid dancer, but the Captain should spend as much time as possible with Marleen and Elizabeth was willing to go to any length to accomplish that end.

Naturally, her father was _not_ happy with the course the evening was taking. At one point he took her aside and remarked quietly, "My dear child, why do you engage every dancer in the whole room but the Captain? He must have asked you at least four times!"

"But Papa, don't blame _me_ , please. It isn't my fault that other gentlemen have asked me earlier on, and really, if _I_ don't dance with poor Mr. Carmichael, no other girl will and he'd be on his own for the entire ball. Besides, the Captain isn't a particularly fine dancer."

"Neither is Mr. Carmichael, dear."

"No, he's disgraceful, so my dancing with him can well be regarded as an act of charity. And don't you and James always urge me to be more charitable?"

He couldn't help it and smiled. "Charitable? So all your dancing is as unselfish as can be?"

"Absolutely!" She beamed merrily, completely missing the irony in her father's comment. "Since the Commodore is gone, _you_ are the only fine dancer in the whole of Port Royal, and as it would surely be considered highly improper for me to dance with _you_ , I have to content myself with young men stepping on my feet."

"Lieutenant Gillette dances very well, too, doesn't he?"

"He's not bad, but a good partner doesn't only dance well but talks pleasantly, and in that department he lacks entirely. Can you imagine that he actually _congratulated_ me for breaking off the engagement to James – the Commodore I mean?! I'm sure he meant no offence, but it put me quite out all the same."

He let it pass and sighed. He had actually hoped that the absence of her fiancé would tempt Elizabeth to be a little more open for the Captain's charms, but had to realise that it had the opposite effect. Perhaps, he contemplated, it would be more useful to obtain an invitation for young Mr. Turner to the next ball, so she could see the difference between the somewhat clumsy and inexperienced boy and the other, exceedingly superior guests. True, Captain Stansfield was no born dancer – which was a pity, as Elizabeth was very fond of it – and he surely made not half as good a figure on the dance floor as the good Commodore. But he would easily cut out the young blacksmith nevertheless, who certainly had never attended a ball in his whole life.

He knew that his daughter found him to be a snob, and she wasn't wrong in assuming so either. What she failed to realise though was that she was a snob herself in many ways. At least the Governor was _aware_ of his preferences, whereas Elizabeth fancied balls and dancing, elegant dresses and educated conversations. Mr. Turner could offer her nothing of all this, and although she might find his lack of standing romantic _now_ , it was bound to tire her sooner or later. No, she had quite a distinct sense of class; that consciousness made her idolise the gap between herself and the young craftsman in the first place. What distinguished him most in her eyes was his being different from herself, making him exotic and exciting in her eyes – but when had happy conjugal life ever been solidly founded on such feeble effects? There would come the day when she would be dissatisfied with her own superior sense opposed to his naiveté, when she was going to positively despise her husband's simplicity. One could achieve a better place in life and be happy with it, but lowering oneself inescapably led to dismay and regret, the old gentleman thought sadly while watching his great hope Captain Stansfield dancing with the regrettably beautiful Miss van Dyke, looking as if he was very much enjoying himself.

* * *

It is not titles that make men illustrious... Machiavelli

There is nothing more difficult to take in hand... Machiavelli

The best fortress ... Machiavelli

From this arises the question whether it is better to be loved rather than feared,... Machiavelli

It is the common good and not private gain that makes cities great. Machiavelli

O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault! Dante


	6. The Storm

**The Storm**

* * *

 _From a little spark may burst a flame._

DANTE

* * *

Nine weeks into the journey the mission of the Dauntless hadn't yet been crowned with success, although she had cruised half of the Caribbean Sea already and defeated half a dozen minor pirate vessels. But no matter what, there wasn't the smallest trace of the Black Pearl so far; they had even sailed to Tortuga, with the sole effect that only threats of severe punishment had been sufficient to keep certain members of the crew from rowing over in order to frequent one of the countless brothels.

Commodore Norrington congratulated himself for his decision to leave Lieutenant Gillette back in Port Royal, as he could vividly imagine how this one would have lost no opportunity to belabour that it was nobody's fault but James' that they had lost Jack Sparrow so entirely. Which was true and he was absolutely ready to take the responsibility – he simply didn't need it rubbed in six times per day. Gillette did not even do these things on purpose – he was much too cowardly for open defiance – but there was an involuntary bluntness about the man that had already cost many of the Commodore's otherwise iron nerves.

Henry Gillette was the other senior officer next to Lieutenant Groves and slightly higher in rank due to his longer time in service, but for some reasons, James strongly disliked him. He couldn't find a name for it; Gillette had never done anything wrong, no, but then, he hadn't distinguished himself either, he had become a First Lieutenant because he was a baronet's son and his father had bought him a Lieutenant's commission and not even his ineptitude had, in twenty years of service, been so great not to move on from being a simple lieutenant to a First Lieutenant. He was over-anxious, ham-fisted, and had a way of dealing with his fellow soldiers that simply disgusted James. Despite Gillette's disliking him as much as vice versa, he was always at pains to ingratiate himself with his superior, while at the same time bullying his inferiors with conceit and ridicule. It was undignified and unworthy of his position as well as his heritage, and as long as the Commodore had a say in suggesting whom to promote or not, Lieutenant Gillette would stand no chance of advancing himself any further.

Consequently it was always a tough choice to decide which of the two highest-ranking Lieutenants was to stay as the deputy head of fort and who captained the Interceptor (when she had still existed) or who was to be his right-hand-man on the Dauntless like now. Gillette wasn't the right man for either position. This time, however, the decision had been made easier by the knowledge that Captain Stansfield was to hold the fort anyhow – after all, how much harm could Gillette do in less than a week?

Another day had begun, with always the same merciless sun blazing down at them; they had been away from home for more than two months by now and every man aboard was more or less out of spirits. Some of the fresh recruits had seized the time to master their seasickness, but this was the only comfort in the middle of dead calms, boredom and sunburns. They were to sail through Windward Passage, as soon as some strong breeze should take them, and search the Northern seas for the Black Pearl that seemed to have vanished into thin air. Lucky bastards, First Lieutenant Groves thought to himself, and with some apprehension, he observed the horizons, for once not to watch out for the wanted vessel, but because a storm appeared to come up. The behaviour of the sea birds was quite alarming, and although not the softest breath of wind was to be felt yet, he reported to the Commodore who had noticed the same.

"Oh well," Groves quipped drily, "Didn't I hear the crew complain about the uneventful quietness?"

James peered through the telescope, lowering it after a minute. "You reckon we can reach land yet?"

"I don't think so, sir," Groves replied, exchanging some significant looks with his superior. "To my knowledge the closest island is at least forty miles off, and we'd need a stronger westerly wind as well."

Scanning the horizon once more, the Commodore sighed. "Tell all spare hands to lie down as long as they can. There's nothing to be done right now, and I'm afraid they will need all their strength later on."

He went under deck to check the maps, with the earnest hope to spot some harbour and may it be yet so small or dangerous that he and Groves had forgotten, and that would be near enough to be reached before sundown. This part of the Ocean was infamous for its unexpected and treacherous passages and had an even worse reputation for the storms which kept haunting it. If they couldn't find an anchorage, it could become quite dangerous even for a ship of the dimensions of the Dauntless. Waves of sixty feet were no exception in such a storm, and many of the younger sailors hadn't experienced a really bad hurricane so far.

He did find one tiny island in the proximity, so small and meaningless it hadn't even got a name but could just as well have been called Hope Island. Even if they didn't manage to reach it in time, they might still get close enough for it to give the crew some comfort, for despondency could be nearly as fatal as even the worst weather. If they thought they were at least in the vicinity of a possible rescue, they would give all they had.

Despondency – he smirked at himself for using this term. The past months had taught him about _despondency_ , more than he could ever have thought possible while still alive and breathing. He didn't know himself what kept him upright, but apparently, a man could go with less sleep or food than was generally assumed, and bear even the hardest stroke of fate.

He had lost seventy men on the Isla de Muerta, seventy men of all ages and ranks, seventy men who had not known when waking up that day that they weren't going to see another. The only time he had ever really lost some of his soldiers had been during the war; they had known what they were up against then, they had been prepared, and they had died as war heroes and been given the proper send-off that was their due for dying for king and country. To lose seventy men – enough to populate an entire village! – so uselessly, so entirely unexpectedly... He didn't bear thinking of it and yet he couldn't stop himself.

And as if his pangs of conscience weren't enough to torment him, he was moreover aching for Elizabeth. Oh Elizabeth... What might she be doing right now? Was she already planning her wedding? Did Turner treat her as he ought to? How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes!

He scarcely dared to acknowledge it even to himself, but he desperately missed Elizabeth, and he couldn't even say why. It wasn't the first time that he was absent from Port Royal for so long, he had born worse deprivations without as much as blinking. And right now, with all possible hope gone – shouldn't he be glad not to see her? He had foretold her that she would be relieved at his absence, but he realised that he had only meant himself. Elizabeth probably didn't even notice whether he was there or not. He had been so sure that a long journey would weaken her power over him, that he would be able to – perhaps not forget, but give her up at least.

For a man like him, this was an entirely new experience; he had survived hostile fire and heavy storms, he had always been strictly ruled by sense and denied himself emotions. He had thought it impossible that some feeling, although harmful and futile, could be stronger than his self-control. He had lost Elizabeth, no, he had never even got her, she had never been his, her hand maybe, but never her heart. He _knew_ all that, but nevertheless, he was incapable to overcome this nameless agony; he hadn't even managed to rid himself of her engagement ring.

She had sent it back on the very day of breaking up the engagement and he had instantly banned it by putting it into the most cluttered drawer of his desk. On the next day however, shortly before leaving his quarters in order to set off, he had thought again and after some more searching found a golden chain to wear underneath his shirt. It hadn't seemed a good idea even at the time, but he had been in a hurry and his headaches had been killing him. So now he wore the very ring he had once put on her finger close to his heart by night and day, taking it out ever so often to have a look, play with it, and when he did, he had to see that it only worsened his pain, but he couldn't stop himself either.

Waiting for the storm in his cabin, he took the ring out once again, his eyes glued to the inscription _'My One and Only'_. He told himself that just like the crew he needed to get some sleep before the storm broke, some rest at least; in some hours at the latest he was going to be in dire need of all his resources. But it would not do, his mind found no peace and his body no sleep, and with growing tension, he knew the time to be ticking away in vain.

Shortly before sundown, Groves knocked on his door, and hastily, he put the chain back round his neck, tied his cravat and got up.

"Sir, I'm afraid it is about to begin."

And so it did. With astonishing speed, the sky had changed colour from glossy blue to a portentous orange grey; a very strong, but inconstant and ever-changing gale had come up which the sails battled with helplessly. He ordered the instant unrigging and watched some boys of fifteen or sixteen years following the order, their faces betraying their fear and the worst hadn't yet begun – what would these terrified children do when they lost the first of their anchors?

Night fell fast this evening, and then, all of a sudden and apparently out of nothing, it was there. The eye of the storm had taken hold of them so rapidly that even such experienced sailors like the Commodore and his First Lieutenant were taken by surprise. In the beginning, they had still tried to pilot westwards, praying to reach the little island, but now, all they could do was trying to save the ship and thereby, their own bare lives. The Commodore shouted orders at the top of his voice, but the roaring gales swallowed most of it, half a dozen of his men had been swept into the bellowing sea combated by warring winds and nobody could have saved them – but suddenly, in the middle of the inferno itself, he saw the most amazing image and wondered for some seconds whether his eyes were deceiving him.

In the last twilight he thought he saw three ships at port side. Was it possible?! Indeed, only a couple of hundred yards away from them, there were a large frigate and two smaller vessels, battling as hard with the raging tempest as the Dauntless. Evidently, this small fleet, Dutch merchants judging by their colours and sails, must have aimed for the same rescue spot like the Dauntless, but their far smaller size made them even more vulnerable than the great first-rate. Before long, he dreaded, his men wouldn't only have to take care of their own ship but try and rescue as many men as they could from those fated vessels as well.

He was still staring at this discovery when something happened that he had even less expected than the sight itself – he heard an explosion, and in the next second, the Dauntless was shaken by heavy impact. For a second, he was stunned, his mind point blank refused to accept what was happening because it was simply inconceivable. They were under attack! In the middle of one of the heaviest storms he had witnessed in his entire lifetime, they were _attacked_ by some crazy Dutch merchants?!

"Ready the cannons and open fire," he screamed, "RETURN FIRE I SAY!"

The crew did their best to follow his orders and keep the ship under control at the same time, but it was hopeless before they had even reached their stations. All three ships had opened fire at them, and in between all the havoc caused by the storm, the Dauntless was now also torn to and fro by heavy impact; the first mast crushed down causing devastation and left her yet more helpless than she was anyway.

The last thing he perceived was another thunderous bang aboard, and someone yelled, "They hit the powder!"

What followed was of no more consequence for the Commodore. The falling foremast hit the side of his head and knocked him out, and while his ship was shred to pieces by a series of explosions, he had already been hurled overboard and was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He swiftly regained consciousness when his lungs filled with salty water, one last thought in mind – 'Now I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap in the dark...' At least, he wouldn't have to live without Elizabeth –

* * *

But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! - Shakespeare

I came into a place void of all light, which bellows like the sea in tempest, when it is combated by warring winds. - Dante

Now I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap in the dark. - Hobbes


	7. Saving Grace

**Saving Grace**

* * *

 _There is a pleasure, sure, in being mad, which none but madmen know!_

 _JOHN DRYDEN_

* * *

"Now this _is_ interesting", Captain Jack Sparrow – he set great store by the correct use of his title – thought to himself, and like so often, he uttered his thoughts out loud. Next to him, old Gibbs nodded and looked into the same direction like his Captain, spitting at the floor.

"Shall we take a look at it?"

"We most certainly shall, Mr. Gibbs," Jack replied in merrily. "Whoever puts on such a lovely bonfire must be in want of some spectators."

All they could see right now was some black smoke on the western horizon, but obviously, there was a great fire causing it, and steering towards its origin, they passed the remains of what must have been a large ship once. Planks, pieces of charred sails and a number of hats floated on the waves, and with some frowns, they passed them, trying to figure out what might have happened here. Two nights ago, there had been one of the most devastating storms in this area in a decade, but this did not explain why the fabric of the sails seemed to have been destroyed by fire, and with a long pole, Cotton fished out one of the rags.

"I've changed me mind, Mr. Gibbs! This isn't simply interesting, this is downright _curious_ ," Jack said, his lips pursed and his head tilting from one side to the other while examining the pieces of linen. Gibbs nodded once again, and Jack fumbled with his telescope until he had a clear view at the place where the fire seemed to come from.

"It's an island," he said matter-of-factly, "Somebody's having a barbecue."

Anamaria cautioned him, but he shrugged off her objections; "My dearest Anamaria, I see nothing whatsoever for you to worry your pretty head about. We show up, have a sausage or two, and perhaps some rum – can't let them celebrate all on their own, can we?"

Anamaria sighed gravely. She was used to Jack's follies, but every once in a while, he was well and truly getting on her nerves. He knew as well as she that it was no 'barbecue' they were sailing towards, but she did not have a share of his unequalled confidence. What if it was a trap? And if it wasn't, but a signal for help – how should they help anyone? They hadn't harboured in two months, their provisions were running out. Wasn't it far more cruel to give the possibly ship-wrecked people on that godforsaken island some hope of saviour just to let them down then?

But there was no arguing with Captain Jack Sparrow – note the title, please – because he simply pretended to be deaf, or twisted and turned all arguments against him so long until they were in his favour. In all those years she had known him by now, she still hadn't been able to make up her mind whether he was a lunatic, a bastard, or simply the worst drunkard that she had ever come across.

"Oh! Oh!" he cried, chuffed with what he saw through the telescope. "It's me old friends!"

"East India Trading Company?" Anmaria suggested drily. "But then, it'd be more of a tea party than a barbecue, right?"

"A tea party indeed. It's the Blue Coats! Two or three of them, I can't say for sure –"

"Clean the lenses or get sober."

"That's a very impertinent thing to say to your captain, luv!"

She groaned and tried to point out any of the fifty reasons why it was anything but smart to sail towards a bunch of British officers, after they had escaped them so ingeniously for some months now, but Jack thought rather the opposite. Of course.

"Fancy the stupid looks on their faces when we pass them with a cheerful 'Ahoy there'!"

When she had manoeuvred the Pearl as close to the shore as she could, she needed no telescope to see the frantic arm-waving of the people on the beach. There were two men jumping up and down and two more prostrate in the sands. Two dead, two survivors – she genuinely pitied the poor guys. They thought their saviour was coming, only to disappoint them and leave them to die, too.

"Is't possible," Jack gnarled with a tinge of surprise in his voice, once more peeking through the telescope. "I _know_ these fine men."

"Don't puff yourself up like that, Jack, I can see they're Navy officers from here."

"You mistake me, luv. I don't mean to say I know their uniforms, every idiot knows their uniforms, Mr. Cotton's parrot would recognise their uniforms. I know _these fellows!_ Personally! The right one – what's his name – Graves or something. He's the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless."

The mere mentioning of the name caused Anamaria to shudder. The Dauntless! Oh _great_. So it _was_ a trap, and somewhere, possibly directly around the bend of the shore, she was waiting to sink them!

"Change tack!" she yelled and yanked the wheel around, only to be stopped by Jack. "What're you doing! We must get away! It may not be too late yet!"

"Hoh hoh, darling. Not so fast." He cried at the men to leave the sails alone and proceeded cheerfully, "I wonder what me ol' hearties are doing here on this lovely day. Look at them, how they're happy to see me."

"Of course they're happy, they've waited for months to get you, and now you're giving yourself up like an idiot!"

He merely giggled and she snatched the telescope from him to take a look herself. Yes, it were four British Navy sailors – silly fools, despite the dazzling heat, they were still wearing their naff coats. And for _them_ , it must be even hotter, as they seemed to have set half of the island on fire.

The two dead men were covered by their blue coats to keep away the flies. Hopefully. She knew all the stories about desperate stranded sailors seeing themselves forced to eat their comrades – oh boy, she hadn't expected that even members of the Royal Navy could fall so far.

Jack insisted on taking one of the boats and row over, no pleas and no threats could change his mind. Gibbs, Marty and Rodrigo would go with him, although their faces showed quite clearly that they would have preferred to just sail away again, but what could one do when Jack Sparrow had set his mind on something?

Yes, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow – he hated it that even his crew sometimes forgot the proper use of his title – wasn't simply pig-headed, he was downright reckless. But in his experience one could only win when daring something, and although he couldn't have explained it to himself, he sensed that it would be worth to inspect the lot over there. The two officers who were still able to stand ran into the water, boots and all, to welcome them, and to Jack's greatest delight, he saw ol' Graves struggling with himself before greeting him.

"Good morning me ol' fellows – Lieutenant Graves! Are you as pleased to see me as I am?"

"Captain Sparrow!" This wasn't Graves, but a lesser rank whose name he had forgotten, but whose somewhat sheepish face seemed very familiar and who was also polite enough to address him as Captain. Good man!

"Yes, it's me!" Jack cried blithely, "But I'm afraid I can't remember your name, good sir."

"Murtogg," the man replied in a similarly cheerful vein and got elbowed by his boss.

"Captain Sparrow – we are – glad to see you, too," Graves commenced. It was obvious how hard it was for the poor, certainly exceedingly decent officer to talk to Jack Sparrow – _Captain_ Jack Sparrow! – like that. As it turned out – and he wouldn't have believed it, hadn't the earnest faces confirmed it to be true – the Dauntless hadn't only got herself into that terrible storm the other night, no! They had also been attacked, which was as weird as Jack had ever heard a story. Attacking the Dauntless in itself was nothing if not a suicide mission. Sailing into a hurricane and attacking the Dauntless was – whatever was worse than a suicide mission. But sailing into the eye of a hurricane to attack the Dauntless and _succeed_ – was simply beyond belief.

And while still listening in sheer incredulity to the desperate sailors, he took a closer look at their injured mates.

Graves saw his glance and elaborated, "Sergeant Mullroy merely fainted from the heat, but our Commodore is very badly wounded –"

"Can it be – no, it's truly – my old friend Commodore Norrington?! Mary mother of Jesus!"

He was genuinely perplexed. To be honest – he had hoped never to see the Commodore again in his life, for he would have expected to spot him through a telescope, on deck of the Dauntless and ready to fire at himself, dear old Captain Jack Sparrow.

Graves went on, "He nearly drowned. I'm afraid for his life –"

"Afraid for _his_ life?! What about your own life, mate?"

The young officer merely scowled defiantly and in Jack's eyes, this was all he needed to know about a man. Did his inferiors truly care about him? Then he was worth a toast. If they didn't – send him down to old Hob.

The Commodore, fancy that... The chap was _hilarious_ in his stuffy righteousness, a true pillar saint in the making he was. But also a damn fine sailor and – Jack was loath to admit – an overall decent man. He battled with himself for a minute before exclaiming as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Rodrigo, Marty – help the gentlemen aboard with their casualties. Come on!"

Anamaria would kill him for this, no doubt. But Jack Sparrow wasn't mad; in this moment, he was quite the opposite. He did have some sense of honour in his bones, and he knew very well that the Commodore had treated him with fairness when they had met before. To forsake him and the others, two of them these hilarious flakes that he had once talked to in Port Royal, felt wrong. And the squirming Lieutenant Graves was bound to be some fun on the journey – torn as he clearly was between his duties and the love for his own life, between despising the pirates in front of him and the sheer relief of being rescued.

Weakened as he was, he took it upon himself to lift up the Commodore and carry him over to the boat with great care.

"You're _sure_ you don't need any help, mate?"

"I carried him on my back until here. I can carry him some more," the Lieutenant retorted through gritted teeth.

"What do you mean, you _carried_ him?"

It meant exactly that, even if the whole thing was still beyond the lieutenant's understanding. That he had survived was nothing short of a miracle. The Dauntless' large powder magazines had been hit, and the whole, previously so grandiose ship had blown up with everybody on her in the middle of the tossing ocean. Groves however had merely been hurled into the sea without any further injury worth mentioning, and inwardly blessing the Commodore for his foresight to insist that his men ought to learn how to swim, he had done the crawl hoping that his inner compass didn't deceive him and he was indeed heading west. To have come across the Commodore, who had been like a sort of brother to him for many years now, had crowned this astonishing piece of good luck.

He had literally bumped into the body in the middle of the ocean showing no sign of life. Still hope prevailed, and with the bad omen of an albatross circling in the sky above them like a vulture waiting for its prey, Groves had grabbed his superior and swum for hours before setting eyes at last on exactly the little island they had set their heart on for before the storm had broken. With the very last of his strength he had dragged the two of them ashore, where he had been assisted by the Sergeants Murtogg and Mullroy who had saved themselves on a plank.

A short exploration of the island had proven that no rescue was to be expected here, so they had wrapped up the injured Commodore, eaten some coconuts and prayed. During the course of the day he had come to the conclusion that they must make a fire and pray some more that somebody saw it. With no other fuel the only thing to set ablaze was the island itself, the palms, the undergrowth, and only saving as many coconuts as they could find, they had gone ahead, knowing full well that if they weren't found before coaxing the last bit of moisture out of the coconuts they were as good as dead.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" they were welcomed back on the Pearl, and like always, Jack noticed how pretty his first mate was when she was extremely angry.

"I thought you knew the answer to that question, luv. May I introduce you to these fine gentlemen? This here is Officer Murtogg. The good man that he's just heaving aboard is his friend Mr. Mullroy – passed out, poor chap. This here is Lieutenant Graves –"

"Groves. My name is _Groves_ ," the officer corrected him, cautiously trying to prevent further damage of the Commodore whom he and Rodrigo now lifted on deck.

"Excuse me, dear sir, Lieutenant _Groves_ , of course. And the gentleman he's dragging about is – you might have guessed it already by his uncommonly pretty jacket, darling – none other than the good old Commodore Norrington. I assure you, you will find nowhere so fine officers as these four. Lieutenant Graves – sorry, _Groves_ there might appear a bit stiff at first, but he improves on closer acquaintance, I'm sure, and as for the Commodore – I don't need to say much about the _Commodore_ , do I?"

" _This_ is Commodore Norrington?!" Suspiciously, Anamaria stepped a little closer and spotting the improvised bandage around his head saturated with blood, she quickly kneeled down and checked his pulse.

"Bloody hell! Bring him down under deck, and make haste!" she snapped and jumped up again. "Cotton! I need water, clean bandages, and whatever liquor you can find. Oh, and some of you guys – club together and provide the newcomers with some grub."

"Heart of gold." Jack smiled behind her back. "She pretends to be all tough and careless, but she's a saint, you know –"

Lieutenant Groves' expression clearly said that he hoped so and with his superior officer in his arms, followed Rodrigo and Sergeant Murtogg who were carrying the unconscious sergeant under deck. He had yearned for a fast rescue for the Commodore's sake, but he was still doubtful whether this apparent blessing in disguise wouldn't turn out to be quite the opposite.

It stood bad about the Commodore. The woman looking after him shook her head sceptically when removing the makeshift bandages.

"The head wound would be bad enough. You can only tell how much damage it's done once he wakes up. _If_ he wakes up. Because the fever is likely to kill him off first."

She dabbed the wound with a piece of rum-soaked cloth and started unbuttoning his shirt. Groves watched with bated breath, and gave an involuntary pant when spotting the golden chain around his superior's neck, with a dainty golden ring adorned by a beautiful emerald dangling from it.

The woman spared the jewel hardly a look, and only looked up when he spat, "For heaven's sake, take it!"

She whirled around, shooting daggers at him. "I may be a pirate, I may be a runaway slave, but I am no thief robbing a dying man!" she thundered.

"No! No! I mean – take the damned thing off him!"

She frowned. "Is it cursed?"

"You bet it is!"

"Can one touch it? What is it?"

"It's an engagement ring."

"A cursed engagement ring?"

"You may well say the engagement was cursed! I can't believe he's _still_ carrying the bloody thing around his neck!"

She shot him a bemused glance and went on undressing the Commodore without touching the necklace. "For now you'd better regard it as his good luck charm," she muttered, putting a glass onto the man's chest here and there and pressing her ear on top of it.

"Little wonder he's consumed by fever! He's got a bad case of pneumonia, poor fellow. Rodrigo! Fetch me the vinegar!"

Groves rubbed his eyes wearily. "I beg your pardon, Ma'am, but – have you any idea what you're doing?"

"My mother was what you English call a witch doctor. You burned her at the stakes for it. But before that she taught me all she knew. So yes, I do believe I know what I'm doing."

"You're a witch?!"

She laughed scathingly. "I wish I was! _You_ ought to wish I was, for then I might just be capable of saving your Commodore."

To Groves' greatest amazement, Sparrow, who had just joined them, looked just as worried as he felt himself. His typical cockiness had vanished as he murmured, "If the gods are with us, it'll take us ten days to reach Port Royal – can he make it that long?"

She looked up in alarm. "Jack, we _can't_ sail to Port Royal!"

"Yes, we can, Anamaria, and we must."

"He might survive the journey or he might not, I couldn't say. But _we_ surely won't! If we sail _there_ , it'll be the last thing we do in our lives!"

"If I may say something," Groves cut in somewhat timidly, "I am – I _was_ – the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless, and with Commodore Norrington incapacitated, I'm his deputy. That means I can grant you safe-conduct. Please, I beg you, take my Commodore back to Port Royal, and you shall not regret it!"

"The last time he –" she beckoned at Sparrow  
"– went to save one of your lot, you thanked him by wanting to hang him! _He_ did!" She cast the unconscious man an angry glance but did not stop dressing his wound either.

"I assure you, the Commodore strongly disliked the idea, but he _is_ a man of the law. You'll find, however, that I am not half as punctilious as he is. I _will_ let you go free, no questions asked."

The woman looked as if she thought him to be as mad as her own Captain, but Jack nodded, "Don't worry, pal, we will take good old Norrington home. _You_ better pray that he makes it until there."

But then a spark of the old craze flickered in his eyes. "Besides – we can't disappoint his bonny lass, can we? Little Miss Swann is too young and too good-looking to fade away as a sailor's widow!"

Groves was perplexed. "But – you _know_ Miss Swann didn't marry the Commodore! She – she's run off with this darned blacksmith!"

"Now did she really!" Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "Silly girl! Will Turner it is then? She could have had _me_ , and she picked the whelp – what say you to that! Hell, I thought she was saving herself up for _this_ fellow there!"


	8. The Return

**The Return**

* * *

 _Now conscience wakes despair that slumber'd,— wakes the bitter_ _memory of what he was, what is, and what must be worse._

 _JOHN MILTON_

* * *

According to the reports that had come with the merchant vessels, it had been the worst hurricane in the past twenty years that had devastated great parts of the Western Caribbean. Giant floods had struck the coastal areas, heavy rainfalls had caused gigantic avalanches of mud to crush down on and bury many villages, and many small fishing boats hadn't returned from sea.

Only little of this affliction had been felt in Port Royal, where only unusually heavy torrents of rain had fallen and ruined one or two garden parties. Still the reports had left no citizen unperturbed. They knew what it was like to be caught in a tempest; it could happen anytime, especially in autumn, in this part of the world and caused more destruction than any pirate attack ever could.

At first, Governor Swann had not been overly concerned. A ship like the Dauntless had only few weak points; she wasn't as fast as other, smaller ships, admittedly, and needed strong winds to advance, but otherwise, she was robust and solid. Her mere weight gave her stability even in heavy seas, and the Commodore was an experienced sailor, knowing both his ship and the ocean. With every day passing without news of the Dauntless, however, his uneasiness grew, all the more when he heard that the area afflicted worst by the storm was roughly were she was supposed to cruise at the time.

So for the third time in a week, he drove town to Fort Charles to interview the Captain, but since this one was busy elsewhere, he had to content himself with Lieutenant Gillette instead.

"But do you think something could have happened to them?" he asked anxiously and for the fourth time at least.

Gillette shrugged. "It's impossible to say that for sure, sir. It's not _likely_ ; it takes a bit more than a storm to affect a ship like the Dauntless."

"Are you sure?"

With some effort, Gillette managed not to roll his eyes. Which part of 'impossible to say for sure' had the old man not grasped? The Governor was a fool, at least _that_ was sure, even his harebrained daughter had more knowledge of naval affairs, and wasn't this saying something?

He shrugged as non-comittally as he could. " _Nobody_ can say for _sure_ , sir. A storm is a storm, and there are many inexperienced sailors on the ship. You know, we received a whole load of new boys, more or less fresh from Portsmouth to replace the men lost on the Isla de Muerta."

Governor Swann looked pained, possibly reminded of the part his idiot daughter had played in getting them into _that_ fix – maybe Gillette shouldn't have mentioned it. He didn't think very highly of Miss Swann, but since she had dumped the Commodore, he had taken a sudden liking to the girl. Otherwise he found her pretty much impossible – even his preposterous sisters possessed more dignity, as was suitable for a decent English lady. They weren't half as handsome, admittedly, but what use was in a pretty face if it covered an empty head?

However, she had broken the Commodore's heart, and Gillette liked her the better for it. She had slighted him for the sake of a young _blacksmith_ – he still had tears of laughter in his eyes when remembering that day. Once, only once, Norrington, the great, famous Commodore James Norrington had got what he deserved. There was a god out there. And he had a great sense of humour. All his military successes, all his merits, this terrible air of sacredness hadn't tempted the fair lady's heart, and judging his state when Gillette had last seen him, this had hit him worse than any pirate attack could ever have.

"Isn't it possible to make contact to them somehow?" the Commodore now inquired.

Captain Stansfield as well as Lieutenant Gillette had tried explaining the concept to him repeatedly, but clearly without making any of it stick. Ships at sea carried carrier pigeons whose homing instincts sent them back to the fort from which they'd come, yes. It was, however, impossible to make the system work the other way round because the best carrier pigeon in the world was still incapable to use the same instinct for finding back to a ship moving around the ocean.

"I believe the Captain sent messages to all major garrisons in the area, sir. If there is something to know, we _will_ sooner or later."

"I am just so worried for the Commodore!"

"Yes, of course, aren't we all," Gillette groaned thin-lipped, unable to suppress a sneer. Oh yes, the _Commodore_! The Governor thought the _world_ of the Commodore, _everybody_ did, not only the inhabitants of the town made some sort of saint of him. No, so did the soldiers, having more respect for their Commodore than for Admiral Thompson himself. They liked Richard's joviality and laxer standards, but they venerated _the Commodore_ regardless.

It was infuriating, really. For eighteen years, Gillette was in the Royal Navy now, serving seven of them under James Norrington, which was more than bad luck – it was a true punishment, and he did not deserve it. He was six years older than the Commodore, and judged by seniority, he should be his superior. But he wasn't.

Whatever this man did turned out a success, he had never lost a battle, had served in the French and Indian War with such distinction that he had been made a Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath, and managed in only eight years what had been the undoing of all his predecessors – ridding this part of the Caribbean of piracy. Of course, there were still some of them out there, there would always be pirates as long as the world contained of poor starvelings, rich ports and Spanish gold frigates. But they were no real threats any longer, and most of all, they didn't dare to come near Port Royal due to the Commodore's fame. At the comparatively tender age of thirty-one he was a living legend among the sailors, even the Spanish praised him. Sometimes Gillette wondered if the Disciples of Christ had at times felt that kind of irritation about their master, and if Judas hadn't in fact done it not for the thirty pieces of silver but in order to finally get rid of that self-righteous wiseacre.

Alas, after all these years of frustrating his inferiors, the Commodore's streak of infallibility had come to a crushing halt at last. Not only had he lost the Interceptor (Gillette had sent his report to Admiral Thompson about the incident with _relish_ ), he had also managed to let Sparrow escape _right_ before his eyes, before the eyes of the entire fleet in fact. His infatuation with the Governor's little daughter had stunned him into immobility, and Sparrow had vanished right from their midst. Five hundred armed soldiers, but no shot had been fired, no command been given! _He_ , Henry Montgomery Gillette, had been ready, he had even _asked_ the Commodore for orders, but in his inconceivable arrogance, Norrington had merely shrugged and _gone away_ then! – If the hurricane hadn't done him in, then Admiral Thompson certainly would. And Gillette would be ready for it.

He was staunchly convinced that Norrington's fame should by right be his; _he_ should have been promoted over the much junior Norrington back then, and if he had, _he_ would by now be the Commodore of the South Eastern forces and have the byname 'scourge of piracy'!

Basically, his whole life was a sequence of misfortunes, scandalous injustice and bad luck. He had two brothers and two sisters; Christopher, the eldest, had inherited the title and fortune, John, the youngest, had been sent to Oxford to become a clergyman, and all other money had been used to bribe some worthless simpletons into marrying his dim-witted, plain sisters. There had been only enough left to buy him, Henry, a commission and with that, he had been sent away. He felt nauseated when thinking of Christopher, enjoying all of London's amenities, while he himself was stuck on some godforsaken rock, and deprived of every comfort at all.

His Navy career was no great success either; he had started as a Lieutenant and never really got any further, and he blamed only the Commodore for this lack of propulsion. Not only that Norrington had usurped his rightful place and would never recommend him for a better position – they didn't like each other, and were both well aware of the other's dislike – he was also a royal pain in the arse. Simply everything about him was annoying; Gillette wouldn't have known where to start if he had been asked about it. But of course nobody ever asked – who could find fault with the _Commodore_?

But this would come to an end at any rate, and then, _he_ would become head of the fort, and a wind of change would blow! He was roused from his gleeful musing by Governor Swann, asking once more, "When do you think the Commodore will return?"

With those happy thoughts of his imminent promotion, Gillette was able to put on his most ingratiating smile. "We will soon hear from them, I'm sure, sir."

"I hope you are right, Lieutenant... The Commodore is such an excellent man..."

Excellent? Oh yes, of course. He was excellent, and brilliant, and respectable, and honourable, and principled. _And an utter prick_ , Gillette privately added to the list of the Commodore's good qualities.

"Very true, sir. Is there anything else, sir?" he asked, using his most flattering voice and praying that the Governor would leave. Talking to him was like talking to a child; unfortunately a rich, powerful child. Luckily, Gillette prided himself on his skills to endear himself to the rich and powerful.

"I can't think of anything right now, Lieutenant. Will we meet you at the party tonight?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Very good. Will you bring your cousin, too?"

"Of course, sir. He's looking forward to it, he told me."

Oh yes, his cousin. Another of these famous sailors. _Captain_ Richard Stansfield, pride of Kingstown. His mother had disgraced the family by marrying a rich commoner and her son had inherited both her single-mindedness and her cheerful the-devil-may-care disposition. Richard had been made Captain two years ago for vanquishing the infamous Captain Friday. Another of these ridiculous stories! But Gillette liked him nevertheless, or even more so.

He was a favourite with half of the town's ladies already, and it didn't take a prophet to know why Governor Swann made inquiries after him either. He clearly hoped his daughter to be among the girls fancying Richard; after failing to make her marry the Commodore, he made do with the second best thing. Poor man, seeing his only child throwing herself away – Richard's mother had at least married _rich_ ; commoners were so much easier to bear when they were wealthy, and with a smart spouse, they could even adopt some proper manners in time.

Gillette didn't quite understand why his cousin didn't make more of this chance. Miss Swann might be silly, but she would also inherit a large fortune and was pretty like a picture. Oh well, perhaps he had cast a covetous eye on the even better prize, Miss van Dyke, whose dowry dwarfed even that of the governor's daughter.

"Is he gone?" Richard stuck his head through the door.

"Ph. Remind why _I_ have to deal with him when it was _you_ he wanted to talk to in the first place!"

"Because I mollified the poor man yesterday and on Tuesday as well and because as your superior it is my prerogative to delegate unpleasant tasks to you. Still fretting for the Dauntless, is he?"

"Oh, but only marginally so. First and foremost, he dreads that bloody Norrington won't come back and he'll for once actually have to do his own job of governing this ruddy place."

"Yes, yes. Bloody Norrington, stupid Governor – allow me to give you a piece of unsolicited advice, my dear chap – you shouldn't wear your dislike on your lapels like that. Makes you sound so pathetic."

To be reprimanded by a commoner's son about one's attitude wasn't pleasant, but Lieutenant Gillette didn't mind too much. Richard was just like that, and it had got him far, much further than Gillette had come. Well, perhaps with his assistance, he could still make his way.

"He made sure to inquire you would come tonight."

"How nice. And of course I shall come, why shouldn't I?"

"For heaven's sake, Richard. You must know he's got his eye on your for a future son-in-law."

The Captain sniggered. "Why, the poor, poor man. To be so constantly let down in all his hopes."

"I don't understand why you don't give it a try. She _is_ rich and pretty."

"But she wouldn't have me and I'm not going to make an idiot of myself. If, in time, she should see the light, you and I can talk again."

Accordingly, when night fell and the party was in full swing, the dashing Captain was not seen courting Miss Swann, but instead behaving very prettily around her best friend Miss van Dyke, and allowed the former to flatter herself for being oh-so-ingenious in advancing her secret plans. Her father, on the other hand, wasn't likewise happy.

"My dear," he said softly and looked over his shoulder as if to make sure that nobody heard them before shooting a very poignant look outside, where Captain Stansfield and Miss van Dyke were chatting animatedly on the balcony. "You are the mistress of this house. You can't leave all the work to Miss van Dyke to entertain our guests."

"I can see what you're up to, Papa." She smiled, but seeing his urgent expression, she sighed and shrugged. "As you wish then, as you wish."

She went out to the balcony, apprehensive that she should interrupt delicate matters, but as it was, she burst into nothing more intimate than a discussion of seabirds.

"Nonsense," Marleen laughed heartily in this moment. "You cannot _tame_ them."

"I assure you, you can! I've seen a great many tame pelicans, albatrosses and seagulls."

"I am ready to believe that every once in a while a lame seagull falls onto your deck, sir. Having nothing better to do, you feed it and cosset it back to health, it flies away, and when the next one appears, you think your old friend had come back to you."

He chortled. "I assure you, we have an albatross as a mascot on board of the Fortuna and it is always the same bird coming back to us."

"Does it answer to its name, hm?"

"He has a name indeed. He is called Pythagoras." He grinned at the two ladies, and raised an eyebrow, "Every sailor spins his yarn, I know the old saying, yet I must beg you to believe me."

"Oh, don't worry," Elizabeth said sweetly. "We shall believe every word you say. Miss van Dyke likes a bit of banter, that's all."

Miss van Dyke seemed disinclined to be thus labelled, but she had no more occasion to oppose. Down in the harbour quite some turmoil had broken loose, and vaguely, they could spot a rudder boat being tied to the pier, and a dozen people, civilians just like soldiers, running there.

"What the –" Captain Stansfield stared intensely for some seconds, before turning on his heels muttering a short excuse. He ordered the other officers present to follow him, and puzzled, Governor Swann inquired as to the reason for such sudden haste.

No one gave him an answer though, and alongside Elizabeth and some other guests, he returned to the balcony to see what was happening down in the harbour. They saw the officers sprinting down – after all, Captain Stansfield was responsible for the fort and the harbour until Commodore Norrington's return – and only a few minutes later, they, too, had arrived at the origin of the disturbance. Everywhere were people now, some of them carrying lamps or torches, and in the feeble light, Elizabeth could distinguish a man being lifted out of the boat. The distance was too great to see more. She shrugged. Every now and then, one of the guards on duty fell asleep, and splashed into the harbour basin. It was one of the reasons why James insisted that all of his men ought to try and learn how to swim, even if the enterprise was futile in many cases. At any rate, a dozy soldier getting his feet wet wasn't extraordinary, and that Captain Stansfield would rather rush there than make love to Marleen was quite unpardonable in her friend's eyes.

But then a carriage was speeding up the road to their own house, which lay rather high above the town itself, and once more curious, she went downstairs and outside to see for herself what was going on.

Her father in tow she arrived just in time for the carriage to draw up, and the first one to jump out of it was Lieutenant Gillette with a shocked expression.

"Governor," he croaked, "can we care for an injured man in your house – our own premises are still in repair after they were hit by the Black Pearl's attack and the hospital is overcrowded as it is –"

Another man shouldered him aside, and to her utmost stupefaction, Elizabeth recognised Lieutenant Groves, who by all means should in this very moment be aboard the Dauntless. The Lieutenant had already looked better, cleaner foremost, and in an even more urgent tone addressed her father, "Sir! I pray you show us where we can take the Commodore. He's heavily injured, and I fear for his life. Please sir, do help us, we've already called for the doctor to come up here."

Elizabeth gaped at him, speechless, while her father cried, "Of course, yes – but – where _is_ the Dauntless – how…"

"The Dauntless lies at the bottom of the ocean, sir, or what's left of her anyway. Gillette, help me!"

Poor Gillette didn't seem to know what to do but obey his comrade helplessly, so together they carried somebody out of the carriage that Elizabeth wouldn't have recognised at once to be the Commodore. Half of his head was covered in bandages, most of his face by a shaggy dark beard, his usually so flawless bearing vanquished as his limbs dangled beside him lifelessly.

She gave a little scream of horror. "Oh Lord! James! _James!_ "

The men carried him into the house while the dazed Governor uttered useless directions; waking herself from her shock, Elizabeth followed them and cried decidedly, "Take him upstairs – the first door on the left side!"

She rushed after them and so did her stammering father. "But Elizabeth –why not one of the guest chambers – the Commodore – Jesus –"

"Because my room is the best in the whole house, it is the coolest, the most airy, and I've got a water mattress!"

She was sick with dread seeing the Commodore lowered onto her bed after all. Gillette tried to unbutton his shirt, but Groves stopped him. "No. Wait for Dr. Jennings."

Marleen had by now joined the commotion and mindfully supported her friend, who stared at the unconscious man in utter shock. The little bit of his face that was visible was pale as a corpse. All she could do was not burst out into tears, and even that cost her dearly.

Dr. Jennings arrived in his shirtsleeves and sent everybody out of the room to examine the patient; Elizabeth had refused to go at first, but the joint powers of her father and Marleen had managed it in the end. The Lieutenant had stayed to tell the doctor what had happened and what first aid measures had been employed, then he stepped out as well, pocketing something that looked like a golden chain.

She assailed him at once with her questions, but even if he shook her off impatiently, he quietly recounted the events that had brought them here.

The first shock she had to digest was the sinking of the Dauntless. _The Dauntless!_ The very ship that had once brought her here, the place she had called home for nine eventful months, the place where she had got to know James and Will, the very epitome of power and invincibility! Slain by a storm and heavy impact! How _anybody_ had survived such disaster! When Groves came to the next part of his report, her jaw dropped even further – Jack?! Jack _Sparrow_?! Taking the ship-wrecked remains of the crew back to Port Royal?!

"Where is he? Where is Jack?!"

"He's gone, Miss Swann," he said coolly, "I granted him safe-conduct, but he would rather not try his luck. _You_ know how treacherous promises can be."

"But – but –" she felt dizzy and leaned heavily onto poor Marleen, who was half a foot shorter than she after all. "And in all these days, he hasn't woken up once? Not _once_?"

It was more of an entreaty than an actual question, but Lieutenant Groves only shook his head without looking at her. Marleen patted her arm, murmuring soothingly, "He will make it through, you'll see! He is strong!"

Groves shot her a glance that was hard to decipher, shaking his head to himself, but Elizabeth had seen it very well and cried, "What is it, Lieutenant? What were you about to say?"

"Nothing, Miss."

"No, you _were_ about to speak! I've _seen_ you!"

"Elizabeth, darling," her father said with a faltering voice, "You must calm down –"

"I will _not_ calm down! Will you tell me now, or do I have to start screaming, for I swear to you, I will!"

She glared at Groves, who returned the look just as belligerently. "Very well, Miss, have it your way, then!" he snarled, piercing her with his eyes. "You're used to always get whatever you want by whatever means anyway with no regard for anyone else, and who am _I_ to disappoint Miss Swann? So hear the truth now and much good it may do you! As for your friend here stating how _strong_ the Commodore is – pray, what makes you think so, Miss van Dyke? Have you talked to him lately? Have you seen him?"

His voice became louder and steadier with every word, but he did not turn his scowl away from Elizabeth even if technically addressing Miss van Dyke. Pure rage was sparkling in his pupils when he spat, "How easy – how convenient for you to tell yourself how _strong_ a man is! Saves you from showing him any courtesy or respect, or having any regard for his feelings! Why care, he's strong, he's robust, he'll be fine, yes? You wail and complain how pale and worn-out the Commodore looks?! Let me tell you he looked just as wan two weeks ago!"

"Lieutenant!" Governor Swann and Lieutenant Gillette cried in the same moment, but Elizabeth lifted her hand and groaned, "No! No – let him – he – leave him alone, will you… I – he's right! He is _right_ –"

"Oh no, don't you flatter yourself, Miss Swann, believing it was your power over him leaving him so despondent!" Groves went on mercilessly. "My Commodore had to get over the fact that – thank to _you_ , incidentally! – he lost six dozens men on the Isla de Muerta, and if the Lord has mercy with us all and lets him survive, he'll have to face losing another eight hundred and sixty! It's enough to weaken any man's spirits, even a _strong_ one's such as the Commodore's!"

Nausea engulfed her as she sank heavily against the wall behind her. It was nothing but the truth; she wouldn't blame the Lieutenant for having spoken it. Poor James! Poor, poor James!

Some minutes later, Dr. Jennings came out. His face was deeply concerned. "Whoever has taken care of him must have saved his life. For all I can say, his head is heavily injured, but the wound has been treated with great skill so it did not become infected. As long as he is unconscious, I cannot judge the extent of the injury, and at present I'm far more troubled by the heavy pneumonia and the resulting fever; you could boil an egg on his forehead. He needs cold compresses, constantly – I will return directly after dawn. Pray for him, if you want to help him."

Elizabeth insisted to stay at the Commodore's side, and nobody would have been able to chase her away, not her father, not Marleen, and neither Lieutenant Groves' furious glares.

Every thirty minutes, she renewed the compresses around his calves. In the meantime, she continuously rubbed his chest and arms with a wet cloth, as gently as she could she wiped those parts of his face that she could see, scared to accidentally disturb the bandages. She called for Scott and asked him to fetch some peppermint infusion – and as an afterthought, scissors and a razor. Then she tried to free his face of the unwonted beard so she could wash it.

This proved far more difficult than she had imagined. Now that she had it in her hands, the razor blade scared her witless, so she quickly gave up and used only the scissors instead. Above all she kept on praying to the Lord to have mercy with him.

And for the first time in her life, she really looked into the face of the man that would have been her husband, if only she had wanted him. He was barely recognisable. He had always been curiously pale for a seafaring man cruising the Caribbean of all places, but now he was deadly pallid, thrown into even sharper relief by his dark stubble. His cheeks had sunken in and she could clearly count his ribs. Despite all this, he looked much younger than she remembered him. For once not holding himself like a naval officer, one could see the true gentleness of his features and elegant grace of his tall slender frame.

What astonished her most was the colour of his hair. It wasn't as if she'd never seen him without his wig before – she had, she had simply forgotten all about it. Not six weeks after sailing off Portsmouth, he had lost both his hat and his wig in a severe storm. Another hat was easily procured, but being his sensible self, he had refused to disrupt their journey only so he could get a new wig. In the flickering candlelight now and contrasted by the white bandages, his hair looked almost black, but she recalled that it was of a rich dark brown, much darker than her own in fact. She stroked a pert strand from his temple and let her fingers glide down his stubbly cheek.

"We'll get you a proper shave in the morning, James," she whispered. "I know how much you'd hate it to be seen like this by anyone, even though, just between you and me, it really suits you."

And then she propped his head up to make him drink a little broth and repeated all her ministrations once again. Shortly before sunrise – he had tossed and turned under the influence of the fever, but shown no sign of life otherwise – she finally dropped down to her knees in front of the cross next to her bed, folded her hands and prayed.

"Dear Lord, show your magnificence tonight! Don't take him from us! I am a sinner and have no right to demand anything from you, but I beg you, let him live. He is a good man, as you surely know, he deserves your mercy. Oh Lord, he deserves everything at all, _please_ , do it for him if you don't want to do it for me! Give him some more years on earth, to be an example to us all. I won't ask anything for myself ever again, but please, you must grant me this!"

She felt no tiredness, only unspeakable fear, and wouldn't have noticed the dawning sun, hadn't it been for Dr. Jennings' return. She still wouldn't part from her patient's side, even less when the doctor declared that there hadn't been any remarkable improvement of his state.

"But it hasn't become worse either, has it?" she asked tonelessly.

"No, but to tell you the truth, Miss Swann – if he were any worse, he'd be dead, I'm afraid."

She winced under the impact of that verdict and began to cry.

"Shhhh," the physician made and patted her arm, "you are overwrought, Miss. You need to sleep."

"I won't leave him!" she wailed and returned to prepare yet another compress. The old doctor hesitated for a minute, then left her to her own devices.

It was all her fault, she knew it. The Lieutenant had been right to tell her what no one else would have dared to say to her face. For everything, she was to blame! _She_ had sent him and his crew to the Isla de Muerta, knowing full well what awaited them there, and ready to hazard the consequences so she could get her will – pardon the pun... Hadn't _she_ broken his heart that day, he wouldn't have been so stupefied as to let Jack escape. No, she felt no remorse for wanting to save Jack, but there would have been other ways. Hadn't Jack fled from Port Royal, James would never have been forced to pursue him. If she hadn't treated him so abominably, he would not have ended like this!

Early in the morning, Captain Stansfield called and offered to relieve her of her duties for a while, but she wouldn't have it. At breakfast time, Marleen came back, to look after her friend and inquire after the patient, and as Elizabeth still refused to leave the room and continued to change the compresses, Marleen sat down beside her. She listened to her friend's self-recriminations, but shook her head eventually. "Lizzy, you must stop that. You've done what was right by you. No one can ask for more."

"But it was all my doing, Marleen, it was nobody but me! My selfishness, my falsehood! – If he dies, it will forever be nobody's fault but mine!"

"And what about these pirates attacking them? You're self-complacent even in your grief, Lizzy. Look at it – you can't marry them both, can you?"

"I had no right to tell him I would marry him just to make him do what I wanted. I know he would have done whatever was in his powers anyway! Lieutenant Groves was right – I've lied to myself to make it easier for me, and I forgot about everybody else!"

"You're hysteric, dear. Why don't you go down and eat something, or better, lie down for an hour or two?"

"No, I'll stay right here. I will not step out of this room and if it takes a whole month until he opens his eyes! Someone has to take care of the compresses –"

"I can do that, Lizzy. Come on, you know I can. I've nursed my mother when _she_ had pneumonia three years ago, and look at her now, she's a picture of health."

"But he doesn't matter to you, Marleen," she croaked, suppressing the tears now, "Nobody has ever cared for him the way he'd deserve, and I – I –"

Marleen embraced her fondly. "My dear Lizzy, calm yourself. No, he doesn't matter to me in the way that your beloved Will matters to you, no one ever mattered to me like that. But if it is of any comfort to you – _I_ wouldn't turn down a proposal of marriage from him even though he's a sailor – now will that suffice as credentials to be his nurse for some hours?"

Elizabeth managed a little chuckle. Only then she noticed Lieutenant Groves in the open door frowning at them. "Excuse me," he muttered, beckoning stiffly. "Miss Swann, Miss van Dyke... I've come to look after my Commodore. How is he?"

"No change," Elizabeth replied hoarsely, not daring to look Groves in the eye.

"Did you change his compresses every half hour?" he asked sternly.

"Of course!"

"Did you make him drink enough?"

"Yes. I mean I hope I did."

"What _did_ you give him, then?"

"Two cups of broth, all in all –"

"But that's not enough! Don't you know that it is vital that doesn't dehydrate?!"

"And the same amount of elder blossom tea. And I rubbed his chest with peppermint infusion, and bathed his feet in vinegar, and I prayed for him, and – and –"

She choked. Softly, Marleen pulled her to her feet. "Go now, my dear," she murmured, "take a nap. I promise I shall wake you up in case he opens his eyes, and I will be most conscientiously changing the compresses each and every half an hour. You can rely on me."

Avoiding the Lieutenant's glare and with a last helpless glance at the lifeless Commodore, Elizabeth obeyed numbly. But she wasn't tired – she was much too stirred to think of sleeping – so she retired to the garden. She slumped down on a bench, covering her face with her hands when she heard a familiar voice behind her, "I just had to come and see how you are, Elizabeth!"

She turned around, and threw herself into the arms of her fiancé. She did no longer try to fight the tears; it was as if a dam inside her had burst. Will held her tightly, whispered words of comfort and love, stroked her back and did just everything that he could think of. Elizabeth calmed down only slowly, confusedly telling him about the last night's events; he had heard enough down in the town to make sense of her incoherent ramblings, and said after all, "Oh my sweet Elizabeth! So compassionate, so self-sacrificing!"

"Self-sacrificing! Surely not!"

"But my dear, you don't help the Commodore by wearing yourself out –"

"But it's my fault! It's all my fault, Will! If it wasn't for me –"

"It's not your fault, my love!"

She broke away from him, unable to handle his well-meaning lies. Because they _were_ lies. She _knew_ she was to blame; it didn't take Lieutenant Groves' accusatory scowls for her to know that only too well.

"I've got to get back," she murmured. "I left Marleen to look after him, but I need to get back –"

He smiled affectionately, "Yes, I wondered that you dared to leave the sickroom. But I'm sure Miss van Dyke will do just fine."

She laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, she's surely much better at nursing than me. And _she_ would even marry him!"

"What a lovely idea! Like that, he'd be provided with a good wife and you wouldn't have to aggravate yourself any longer!" He laughed, but Elizabeth couldn't see the joke.

"Oh no, not at all," she retorted sharply, "It wouldn't excuse my awful behaviour against him one bit, and secondly – I've never heard of a match more unsuitable; just imagine! Marleen and James! _Impossible_!"


	9. Awakening

**Awakening**

* * *

 _Men may second their fortune, but cannot oppose it; that they may weave its warp, but cannot break it. Yet they should never give up, because there is always hope, though they know not the end and more towards it along roads which cross one another and as yet are unexplored; and since there is hope, they should not despair, no matter what fortune brings or in what travail they find themselves._

 _NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI_

* * *

She positively hated the idea. Marleen, marry James Norrington?! Preposterous! She was halfway in love with Captain Stansfield! After all the time and effort Elizabeth had invested into forming this romance, she would not give up on it because of some random remark!

But if it was only a random remark, why even care about it? Perhaps there was more truth to it? Hadn't Marleen given her an arch look when saying it? What was more – it _wasn't_ a random remark at all, she had been saying the same for _years_! ' _I_ 'd marry him at once if I were you', she had used to say, even during the time when he had clearly courted Elizabeth, and how brazen-faced was that when you thought about it?!

Fortunately, the Lieutenant had been gone before she had returned to the house and even more fortunate was that Marleen soon left too; Elizabeth couldn't endure her friend's sympathy, and worse, her own onslaught of suspicion.

She might have fretted with the idea for the rest of the day, but her duties as a nurse wouldn't leave any room for other concerns. As the heat outside invaded the house, she had closed the curtains and windows, sent out the servants to purchase some ice no matter at what cost, and doubled her efforts if that was even possible.

She called for Scott and ordered him to shave the poor patient after all, which he did with his usual excellence and effectiveness. Seeing him wield that god-awful blade distressed her, but in the end, James looked almost like the Commodore once more, and she knew how much he'd appreciate that. He had always been just so very neat and tidy, never unshaven, never a single hair out of place.

Scott had also brought her a more comfortable armchair and some books, but she had sent him away again with these; she couldn't concentrate on anything. Instead, she talked to James, informed him about everything he had missed during his absence; about the friendly Captain, about the two balls in the fort, about Reverend Martin becoming a grandfather for the fifth time (both mother and child were well), about a small fire in York Street which had quickly been put out without causing much damage, about old Mrs. Fairchild's parrot picking up some _very_ wicked phrases and refusing to unlearn them. She told him of everyone who had died and every child being born, and when she ran out of appropriate topics, she told him who was courting whom, and every other piece of gossip going around, even though she knew that James didn't care for tittle-tattle, but what else was there to say? A town like Port Royal hadn't much except gossip to offer.

"I am sorry for talking such nonsense," she murmured apologetically. "I know, you always say 'Follow your course and let the people talk,' and you are right, of course. How come you are always right in the end, each and every time, eh? _Your_ moral compass never fails you, even if I often argued otherwise. Dear Lord, James, if only I could tell you how sorry I am for all I've done!"

She was desperate to confess even her smaller sins, so she began talking to him about her schemes concerning the Captain and her friend Marleen – could he have heard her, she would have fled the room with shame. So far, she hadn't acknowledged her plotting to anyone, not even Will, for she was quite embarrassed about it.

Another night fell, the old doctor paid several visits in between, and by ten o'clock, Sarah came in to take over. Elizabeth hadn't slept a minute all day, so she gave in after much urgings, but instead of leaving, she made herself comfortable in the armchair next to the bed.

When she woke up in the morning, his state was unaltered, and she cursed under her breath. She sent Sarah to fetch her some coffee and toast and lie down herself then, and continued her labour like she had done the day before. She would make him wake up, she _would!_ In her eighteen and a half years on this fair earth, she had never _not_ gotten her will, and she wasn't about to start _now_.

At half past eight Captain Stansfield came for another visit, followed at nine o'clock by the Lieutenant, but this time she was determined to not let him chase her away. Barely acknowledging his presence, she went on as before, washing, rubbing, dabbing, cooling, then she got an idea how he could be not as entirely useless as he was now, just mournfully staring at his superior officer.

"Mr. Groves, you do know how to shave a man. I beg you please do the honours."

And thus she handed him the basin, blade and soap with a challenging look. He looked puzzled, but that didn't detain his usual hostility.

"What's that supposed to be good for, then?" he snarled, but did as bidden.

"I may of course be mistaken, but I believe the Commodore would never allow himself to be seen without being impeccably groomed. I intend to make no exception of that rule only because he cannot help himself."

He visibly deflated before flaring up again. "And why don't you do it yourself? Too menial a task for you, is it?"

She scoffed. "Would you really have a woman who's never handled such a thing in her life come near your friend with a sharp blade such as that?!"

"Point taken," he grumbled, and seemed to privately add, 'You may have won a battle, but the war isn't over yet, you silly cow!'

When he had finished, Elizabeth dabbed a cloth in iced water and gently washed the Commodore's face.

"There you go," she whispered, "this will relieve you a little..."

She continued with his arms and chest, checked the temperature of the compresses with her fingers, once again propped her patient up on a cushion and trickled some tea down his throat, scrupulously careful for him not to choke on it. She didn't pay the Lieutenant any more attention and therefore didn't notice how closely he scrutinised her.

After another ten minutes he got up and bid her good-day, and when he did, he didn't sound _quite_ as confrontational as usual, but Elizabeth was far too absorbed to notice.

In front of the house he met Miss van Dyke, who had come to look after her friend and perhaps convince her to take a short break. He had already apologised for his harshness in the night of their arrival when they had been alone in the sickroom the day before, so now she showed herself genuinely pleased to see him.

"How is the Commodore?" she inquired solicitously.

He shrugged. "I can hardly say. According to Dr. Jennings, his temperature dropped a little and his head wound has mended enough to remove the bandages, but that seems as good as it gets."

"And what does Elizabeth say?"

He made a face. "It won't astonish you to hear that Miss Swann and I are hardly on speaking terms."

She laughed a tinkling laugh that sounded very pleasant. "You must not be so strict with her, please, Lieutenant. She tries so hard."

"Oh yes, that she does..."

He made a pensive face and asked her whether she was in the mood for taking a walk through the lovely gardens, and she accepted his proffered arm. He had something on his chest, she could tell, and was quite curious to hear what it was.

"You see, Miss," he began after a while, looking for the right words, "I do believe that Miss Swann is genuinely worried for the Commodore's sake – after all, who wouldn't be? But I wonder – I have my doubts – look, hopefully, he is to recover soon, and when he opens his eyes, what will he see? The face of Miss Swann, directly before him. He will hear that she has sat up with him day and night, how she cared for him and… Don't you think all of this will endear her even more to him? She is about to marry another man, nothing has changed in this respect. But neither have the Commodore's..." He trailed off and coughed. "I'm afraid that the present arrangement will only inflict more pain on him, and I've wondered – don't you think it would be good to bring him somewhere else, as soon as his state allows transport?"

"But where should that be, Lieutenant Groves? I understand that the hospital isn't really fit to treat him and that the fort's infirmary is more or less a hole in the ground after the recent attack on the town."

"If I had an answer to that question, Miss, I would already have talked to the Governor about it."

She saw his point very clearly and was silent as they went on. In the way of small talk he mentioned a rather astonishing appointment he had today at noon. He had assumed that, being Miss Swann's friend, she'd know all about it already, but she did not.

In sheer amazement, she cried out, "Will Turner wants to sign up for the Navy? What made him think of _that_?"

"Well, if he wants to marry Miss Swann, he needs to earn some money for a start, doesn't he?"

She hesitated, still perplexed at the idea. "Has he talked to Elizabeth about that?"

"If _you_ don't know, Miss, how am I supposed to have the faintest clue?"

"I don't think it will please her at all," she murmured absent-mindedly. While chatting so eagerly, a plan had begun to take shape in Miss van Dyke's bright head, and after another round, she asked the Lieutenant to excuse herself. She quickly went inside to see after Elizabeth, then rushed back down the hill to speak to her father.

Incidentally – yes, Will Turner indeed wanted to join His Majesty's Navy. He had long thought about it, much longer than anybody including his fiancée would have guessed. As a matter of fact, he had dreamt of becoming a sailor ever since the Dauntless had fished him out of the Atlantic eight years ago, and even before that...

How he had admired the officers! How he had stood in awe of Lieutenant Norrington – Captain Norrington – why, even when that one had become Commodore Norrington and Will had no longer been a little boy dreaming to be a soldier, he had still revered the man as a hero.

The Lieutenant – Captain – Commodore – was everything that Will was not, with the possible exception of swordsmanship, in which he might after all equal his great role model. But then, he only had begun exercising in order to emulate the Captain (as he had still been then).

He hadn't seriously considered joining up because Mr. Brown – the man who had been so good as to take him in as an apprentice when the little orphan boy had arrived in Port Royal – had no children of his own and needed a successor, it was as simple as that. And Will would have become that successor without a grudge, only now he needed far more money than he could ever make as a blacksmith. You couldn't marry a woman of Elizabeth Swann's standing with a blacksmith's earnings! Being a soldier on the other hand offered certain possibilities to advance oneself. He was an excellent swordsman already; he had it in his blood to be a sailor, too – what should go wrong? And with a career in the Navy, he might after all get enough money to afford making Elizabeth his wife.

The return of the Commodore and the remains of his crew had created some confusion among the officers though. The problem was that until Commodore Norrington's return Captain Stansfield had been assigned to be his deputy in the fort, and Lieutenant Gillette the second man in command. In a case of illness or other incapacity of doing service aboard the Dauntless on the other hand, Lieutenant Groves was to represent the Commodore. Nobody within the fort was absolutely sure what precedence was now in place, with the highest rank unconscious, the second highest by definition relieved, and the two next ranks equal, but disliking each other so strongly that Lieutenant Gillette downright refused to submit to Lieutenant Groves and that one only marginally less uncooperative.

This was the reason why nobody saw fit after all to officially sign up young Mr. Turner for His Majesty's service that day, and as unsatisfied he was with this delay, as lucky he was considering his fiancée. Miss van Dyke had been spot-on in her guess that Elizabeth wouldn't like the idea of her fiancé becoming a sailor after all – a fact that would never in his life have occurred to the young man, all the more because she had strongly supported the idea for so long.

He paid her his usual visit during his lunch break and told her about his foiled attempts to become a soldier. He'd have expected her to laugh at his mishaps, or embrace him for the commendable initiative, or both, but what he had certainly _not_ anticipated was her outraged, "Have you gone insane?!"

"But –"

They were conversing in the hallway in front of her room which she had been persuaded to leave for five minutes in the hopefully capable hands of Captain Stansfield who had come to visit his superior, and only the recollection of the patient behind the door made her tone down her volume.

"No! If you need an example to what such service does lead, all you have to do is take one look into my bedroom!"

He was baffled and murmured somewhat deflated, "I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased?! I'm going to pieces worrying for an old friend such as the Commodore, how do you think I would feel if the same thing happened to you!"

"It won't come to that. I'm a good fighter and sailing is in my blood –"

"Pah!" she fired up before checking herself, and continuing through gritted teeth, "That man in my bed is said to be the best sailor in the entire western hemisphere, and what good did it do him?!"

"Elizabeth, my love, please listen –"

" _No!_ "

"But you said yourself that it is a _good_ thing."

"As you could already have noticed, my first opinion is wrong more often than not! I should _hate_ to see you become a sailor, I should never have a quiet night again for the rest of my life!"

"But I want to marry you, and how –"

"There will be another way then!"

"But I cannot afford to marry you –"

"And I cannot afford any more dead sailors on my conscience!"

"Elizabeth, I –"

He tried to convince her, she flatly refused to listen, and before long, she sent him away. They had never argued before, and while Will was out of himself with anguish, Elizabeth was plainly vexed. For the first time, she could understand Marleen's long-standing credo not to marry a sailor. What a sensible woman she was! How could Elizabeth ever have mocked her? Will, going to sea! What a horrible idea! She stormed back into her room. Captain Stansfield was only now fluffing up the pillows and gave her an amazed look.

"You are very quick, Miss Swann."

"Yes, it was a very brief visit indeed," she snarled, knowing he must have heard most of her part of the conversation anyhow. She was still foaming with rage and let herself fall into her armchair, snatched up the fan and furiously waved it over poor James' head, who quite on cue looked even less alive than ever. "You can leave, Captain. I can manage on my own."

Poor James! Here he was, closer to death than to life, and her crazy fiancé could think of nothing better than joining the King's Navy?!

Had 'poor James' been awake, he might have shrunken back from her violent care. She wrung the wet compresses as if they were an enemy's neck, bearing her teeth. A sailor indeed! She banged the sugar hammer, which was used to crush the wickedly expensive ice, with such force that little splinters of ice blasted away and almost hit her patient. _This_ was the result of being a _sailor_! She rolled the ice into the compresses and wrapped them so tightly around his calves that it threatened to cut the blood supply, and slapped a dripping wet cloth onto his chest with might – only then she woke up to check herself. She instantly loosened the compresses, and tried to make up by being extra gentle.

With great care, she rubbed his chest, dabbed his forehead with cold water and combed his hair with her fingers. The dark waves suited him well; why would all these officers hide their good looks behind layers of brocade, powdered wigs and plainly silly triangular hats?

Then she washed his face and neck, calmer now, at least in her movements, and determined not to increase poor James' sufferings only because Will behaved like a fool. She had just begun washing his hands when something made her halt and scrutinise his face. His eyelids fluttered – they hadn't fluttered in all the time since – and for a second or two he actually opened his eyes.

She jumped up with excitement. "James?"

He did not answer, of course, but that didn't matter, he _had_ opened his eyes, and if he opened them once, he would do so _again_ , and –

She was out of her head with relief and joy and called for Sarah to spread the happy tidings, but when the girl offered her to take over, she sent her away.

"You get a good night's rest, Sarah, because come what may, I am not going to leave this room before he hasn't opened his eyes once more!"

But during this night, he didn't move again, and Elizabeth's elation evaporated slowly. Could it have been a mere reflex? Had her own strained eyes betrayed her?

She wouldn't admit to anyone how tired she was, exhausted by lack of sleep and her unspeakable worries. "Wake up," she implored and pressed his motionless hand. " _Wake up_ , James, I beg you… If you have ever loved me just a little bit, you must wake up –"

Well, she'd better not measure his love by his reaction, for he was as motionless as he'd ever been since he had been brought to this house. She could no longer suppress the tears. She wept in silence, pressing his hand, stroking it softly.

"I know, James," she muttered under her breath, "it's all been my fault. _Everything_ was my fault. I've been horrible to you in each and every aspect – but look, if you want to punish me, think of something else, _please_. Don't die under my hands… I won't bear to have it on my conscience to have killed you! That Lieutenant Groves took me to task and no mistake, and I _know_ he's right. You have a very devout friend in him, you know that? _He_ saved you, he swam miles and miles with you on his back, and now Lieutenant Gillette is giving him a hard time, I heard. Gillette is a moron, but you know that anyway. I'm glad that it wasn't him that you appointed for the Dauntless – _he_ surely wouldn't have rescued you. Smart as you are, that's probably why you chose Groves in the first place, right? You must wake up and sort it all out, see? And reward Lieutenant Groves – oh God, if I imagine that he had returned without you! I should have never been happy again! You must also reward him for scolding me, I mean it – he's a good man, almost as good as you. He comes twice every day to see you, but he won't talk to me, only to my father. He thinks I'm a spoilt child, and perhaps he's even right… No, he _is_ right. Nobody ever dares to criticise the daughter of Governor Swann, just like nobody criticises him. _You_ 've always been much too kind to do so. Don't think I was ignorant of your merits, James! All my father's pomp and glory never made me forget that it's not Governor Swann who made this town respectable – it's been you, and you alone! I have not forgotten. Why have you always been so modest, James? Because frankly, you mustn't be! Where would we all be without you? And what shall we do without you if you don't wake up?"

She had to let go of his hand in order to blow her nose but she couldn't stop herself from weeping.

"I never had the chance to tell you but I want you to know that I meant every word of what I've said to you that day on the Dauntless – the Dauntless, good Lord! I am so ashamed of myself when I think of it – how you looked at me when I said I'd marry you! You thought I was lying, I could see it in your face, but honestly, you _must_ believe me, I did not! I would have married you, you _are_ a fine man, James, you're the best person I've ever met with, you are everything that any woman should dream of marrying. _I_ am the idiot, you know? You've been simply too nice to realise. Honestly, you must rejoice that you are rid of me – I'm a troublesome creature, I know… Just yesterday, I gave poor Will such a hard time, only because he wants to join the Navy so he can afford marrying me. Oh, forgive me! – I know I shouldn't talk to you about Will! See? _See?_ That's how inconsiderate I am, how thoughtless, and you should consider yourself lucky to have escaped me. You deserve so much better than me. You deserve to be happy, James, and I doubt that I have it in me to make _anybody_ happy. I'm good for nothing, I don't even make a useful nurse, otherwise you would be better, wouldn't you… Dear Marleen, _she_ is a good nurse, she made her mother recover from a heavy case of pneumonia. Yet I'm too selfish to let her nurse you. Oh, and thinking of selfishness – do you know who brought you here? To Port Royal, I mean? Jack Sparrow, can you believe it? I hadn't meant him to be capable to do anything not serving himself in the first place! But I am unjust, he saved me from drowning, and there was nothing in it for him either. Which makes _me_ the worst egoist in this part of the world by a long way."

She changed the compresses once more, still crying softly, and when she finished, she reached for his hand again. "What hands you've got, oh dear. These are no sailor's hands. With hands like these you should play the piano, you know? I've never asked you, I don't know why I've never asked you – have you learnt to play? I'm sure you have. And then you've exchanged the sonatas for shanties and merry old England's green pastures for the blue of the Caribbean Ocean, and what did you get for your troubles? Nothing but more troubles, war and a broken heart… But that's self-righteous of me, I'm sorry. You'll have gotten over me very easily, the way I treated you. But I do hope that you're still my friend, you're the oldest friend I've got and I abhor the idea that this could ever change. You've always looked after me and I never once thanked you for it. Remember how you taught me all the sailor knots? How you would catch me when I jumped down the booms? How you showed me how to dance and never once remarked how often I trampled on your feet before I got the hang of it? I've always enjoyed dancing with you so much, you do it so well. I told you of that ball the other week – there was not one decent dancer there, can you imagine? Oh how I missed you that evening! Balls are no fun at all if you're not there, James."

She stopped dead and let her head hang. "For goodness' sake, listen to the way I carry on! Talking of silly balls, while you nearly died! That's just so typical of me, I am just so mindless sometimes. I didn't only miss you as a fine dancer, just so you know, I also missed our talks. You're the only one who ever talks to me as if I was a sensible creature, and even if I scarcely show it, I do listen to what you say, even if it goes far over my head at times. Still it always gave me the feeling that you took me seriously, and you're about the only one who does. Oh James, why won't you wake up! I'd do anything in my power only to hear your voice again! And poor Lieutenant Groves – if you don't want to do me the favour, do it for him. Dear, dear James, what can I do? You just don't seem to want to wake up! I can understand that you must be tired after all of this, but can't you wake up for some minutes, just to tell me that you're alright? I'll leave you in peace then, you can go on sleeping then – just open your eyes and speak to me, _please_!"

She pressed his fingers, wiping her own tears away with her free hand. It was hopeless, he could not hear her, but she simply couldn't stop talking, what else was there to do?

"I've prayed every free minute for you, James. But the Lord is angry with me, and rightfully so. I deserve to be punished; I just don't think that He should take it out on you! But then – I have no right to blame Him, listen to me talking, decrying the Lord where I've only got myself to blame! It's been a miracle that you've survived, that Jack has found you, and good Dr. Jennings says your fever has become a little bit better… I only lack patience, that's all. Poor Groves is worrying for you much longer, and look at him, how patient _he_ is. That's just me again, selfish and unjust _and_ impatient… And utterly careless of anybody's feelings but my own, which is the worst of all – I shall better myself, James, I promise! Please, give me a look, a smile – you've hardly ever smiled at me, you know that? But then why should you, I never gave you much reason to smile at me anyway. How could you _ever_ fall in love with me? Really, I don't get it – I've been nothing but terrible to you! Perhaps I was civil sometimes, but who wouldn't be civil to you? That is no merit. Only a good man like you could be so benevolent as to see any merit in _me_."

It was in the darkest hour of night when Elizabeth found no more words to speak. He hadn't heard a thing she had said, but it had relieved her, if only a little. The fan in her left, his hand in the other, she had fallen silent, observing his face that would not move, no matter what she did. The candle next to her was flickering, painting moving shadows against the walls – if only _he_ would move as well! She would ask for nothing else.

Perhaps it were her desperate prayers, but shortly before dawn, by some divine miracle to be sure, she saw a small twitch around his eyes, and her heart stopped beating for a second.

"James? _James?_ " Oh Lord, make him hear her, make him – "James!"

His lips were moving, and maybe it was only her own imagination playing tricks on her but she thought she saw his lips form 'Elizabeth' – but she surely was mistaken.

"James!" she cried, squeezing his fingers so hard she bruised them, but she could impossibly notice that right now.

She saw him slowly opening his eyes, he blinked, she cried his name over and over again, he turned his head a little to the side and seemed to recognise her, whispering, "Elizabeth?"

Later she was going to thank the Lord on her knees, but later, only later, right now she was much too preoccupied kissing his hand in sheer elation. Her heart was bursting with joy.

"Oh James! Dearest, dearest James!"

She didn't know what to do, where to begin, suddenly anxious to make a mistake, so she merely pressed and caressed his hand, stroking over his cheek with her other, alternately addressing 'dearest James' and the 'Holy Lord' and bestowing both with an equal amount of praise and gratitude.

'Dearest James' had not a faint idea what was happening. Was he dreaming? Was he dead? He had a vague notion of Elizabeth – his beloved Elizabeth – being there, moaning his name and squeezing his hand – so it probably was a dream after all, although he'd never had a dream of her before in which she was so – so –

He tried to focus, but his head was splitting and he winced back in pain.

"Oh James! You're alive! You're awake! What can I do for you? Are you in pain? Do you want water? How do you feel? Oh James! Shall I call for the doctor? Shall I call for Lieutenant Groves? Just tell me what to do and I'll do it!"

So far, he didn't even know where he was, and her onslaught overtaxed him thoroughly. She covered his hands with kisses, convincing the patient that this _was_ a dream after all, and peacefully he passed out again.

This time though, Elizabeth did not despair, he _had_ been awake, he had _recognised_ her, he had spoken – he would do so again, he _would_ be better! She only needed to wait, and next time, she'd be better prepared!

And so it came. He regained consciousness two or three more times only to sink again in the next moment, but the intervals became shorter, his waking moments longer, and Elizabeth had got enough of a grip on herself by then to be able communicating some intelligible bits. He was in the Governor's house – he had been heavily injured –he had not opened his eyes in two weeks – Elizabeth Swann was the world's happiest creature.

Still in a daze he slowly felt life returning to his limp body. He had known Elizabeth for half her life, but he had never seen her like this, and hearing that he had suffered from a consuming fever, he marked her altered demeanour down to him being in a delirium. The thought made him smirk.

"You smile!" she cried triumphantly. "I begged the Lord to make you smile, and you do!"

He couldn't make the connection between anything he did and such outburst of joy in front of him, but it didn't matter, he could ask her later. The only thing that mattered _now_ was seeing her, his dearest, mostly beloved Elizabeth. Some gloomy recollection told him that he had been convinced to never be allowed clapping his eyes on her again. But there she was, stroking his cheeks, his forehead, his hands, urging him to sip some water, and he let everything happen, too weak to oppose and far too confused.

A chambermaid appeared and left again. The Governor came in his nightshirt and wigless, wringing his hands in stammering relief. A doctor arrived and did all sorts of things, most of them decidedly unpleasant, and still he let it all just wash over him, at a perfect loss what was going on.

And then Robert Groves came, too, and with him, the full force of recollection returned and James suddenly remembered all that had happened. The Dauntless! The storm, the attack, the fire, the explosion – oh, all those poor lost souls! His men – dead! He hardly dared asking how many had survived – some must have, after all he was here as well, wasn't he? – but Groves shook his head sadly and told him that only two other sailors had made it. Only two! There had been eight hundred and sixty-two sailors on the ship, and only four of them had survived!

The impact of that realisation threw him utterly; he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists, and wondered why he hadn't gone down with his men. He had been responsible for them – it had been not only his duty to look after them, but his whole life's purpose!

Lieutenant Groves knew what was going through his superior officer's head, and pressed his hand in great agitation. "There was nothing you could have done, sir."

"But –"

"They are dead, but they didn't die by your mistake, or lack of judgement. They just died. Sometimes there's nothing you can do."

His voice hoarse from lack of use, he managed to croak, "I was their Captain. I ought to have gone down with them, and my ship."

"No, sir. It is your duty to avenge them."

James opened his eyes, finding Groves gazing down at him calmly. He hesitated for a minute, then nodded.

"You are right. Thank you, Robert."

"Not at all, sir. I am just glad you're back with us."

"Thank you for taking me back home as well. Elizabeth said you saved me."

"Of course I did, sir. You're closer to my heart than my own family."

They exchanged a long glance, before Groves let go of his hand and put on an awkward mien.

"Incidentally, sir... I have something of yours. I scarcely know – but it belongs to you, I have no right to keep it from you." He dug into one of his pockets and produced the golden chain with Elizabeth's engagement ring which James had worn around his neck, and handed it over. "I just thought it advisable, given the circumstances, not to have it exposed to prying eyes."

James gazed at the little ring, once more taken back to the deck of the Dauntless, when he had last thought of it, just before –

Groves' expression darkened. "I knew I shouldn't have – too soon –"

"It's not what you think," James muttered and closed his hand around it. "Don't look like that, it really isn't. Thank you for keeping it safe for me."

His fist clenched around the ring and chain, his head sank back onto the cushion and he closed his eyes. Eight hundred and fifty-eight dead men. Eight hundred and fifty-eight. _Eight hundred and fifty-eight._ He couldn't get his head around this number.

He had lost men before, of course. Each one had been a tragedy. Only recently, fighting Captain Barbossa and his crew, he had lost seventy, and it had taken his heart out. Even in all his worldly felicity, thinking Elizabeth was going to be his bride, he hadn't been able to stomach those seventy dead soldiers. How he should ever forgive himself for twelve times as many was beyond him. No – it was just impossible.

Groves, thinking he was exhausted – which he was – soon left, and was instantly replaced by Elizabeth, whose happy face clashed direly with his own feelings of loss.

"Are you in pain?" she asked in wide-eyed alarm.

He shook his head and shut his eyes again, eight hundred and fifty-eight dead souls on his conscience and on his mind.

"What is it, James?"

"Don't worry. I am just tired," he lied, and while he knew that Groves was right, he couldn't help himself wishing he had gone under with his men. Like a father ought not to see his children die before him, a captain ought not to be supposed to survive losing his ship and his crew.


	10. A Fair Young Lady, Or: The Sly Snake

**A Fair Young Lady, Or: The Sly Snake**

* * *

 _At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them: cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed._

 _JOSEPH ADDISON_

* * *

In eighteen and a half years, Elizabeth Swann hadn't lived a morning so utterly filled with joy. She checked herself – no, it was true; after Barbossa's defeat she had believed to have lost Will, the day of this one's declaration of love had been tinged with regrets for hurting James. _This_ morning had no such drawbacks. James had woken up at last! It was too good to last, but happily, she didn't know that then.

Of course, he was worn-out (amazing, wasn't it, that being unconscious for two weeks should have that effect!) but the worst was over. Dr. Jennings was satisfied with his patient and confident that the head wound had done no lasting damages, which was all Elizabeth needed to hear to make her happiness complete. It was all she could do to let the poor man sleep without haranguing him to affirm that he was indeed alright; as it was, she was sitting on the edge of her armchair next to the bed, closely scrutinizing every breath he took and positively jubilating with each.

This morning had been too blissfully busy to groom him like she had the other days, and thinking somewhat stupidly that he wouldn't notice because he had not noticed before, she tiptoed around to gather the shaving utensils and began to lather his jowls.

His eyes flew open at once, and she was so startled that she congratulated herself on not having tried to apply the razor blade just yet.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up!"

"What –" He touched his chin and looked at his soapy finger, baffled.

"Oh I am sorry, James! I just – we haven't shaved you today and I thought you should like that."

" _Shave_ me?!"

So she explained her reasoning for having groomed him every morning since his arrival, and was pleased that in all his worn-out pallor, this actually made him smile.

"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

She was particularly pleased by this assertion. No one ever commended her for being thoughtful, because she rarely was, but she had had nothing but good intentions in this case and was gratified that he should have noticed. "You are welcome! Now settle back, please."

"Honestly, Elizabeth, I thank you for your efforts, but I assure you I can shave myself."

"Oh, you'll have to. I don't trust myself with that blade. At first, Scott did that bit, and then Lieutenant Groves when he visited you every morning, but he must have forgotten today... Which is a shame, because I bet there are going to be lots and lots of people just dying to see you, and today of all days he forgot... Or I could call Scott once more –"

"Please, don't. I can really manage that much on my own."

"Excellent. Now lie back, please."

"But –"

But she had already recommenced putting lather on his face and gently spread it around, and he found he had no strength to argue with her. Besides, having her touching his face so gently was the most intimate encounter he'd ever had with her, and while he knew it was entirely improper, he couldn't help it but relish it all the same. It was all he could do not to sigh with feeling, so he opened his eyes again, finding her so deeply concentrated on her task that she had stuck her tongue out a little. It was a sight to warm the most despondent heart.

And it wasn't only for him. Elizabeth was so infinitely glad to be allowed being of service to him, she thought she had never enjoyed a task more. Also, she was rather startled to find him looking back at her for once. She had done the same job for four mornings, but never had she seen his eyes. In fact, she had never seen his eyes at such close distance, and was slightly astonished to find that they were of a verdurous green. How could she have missed that? For some reason or other, she had always automatically assumed he had blue eyes. Most Englishmen had, after all. But no, they were green, deeply and lustrously green. Beautiful, really.

When she had finished, she tilted her head to survey her work, nodded lightly, and handed him the razor.

"Erm... Do you happen to have a mirror, maybe?"

"Oh, of course!" She jumped to her feet, realised she didn't have a handheld mirror in her room (if there was one thing to be said for her, it must be that she was not vain), so instead (ignoring his protests) she unhung a rather large ornamental gilded mirror from the wall, hauled it over to the bed and just so managed to put it on the mattress next to him without squashing his legs.

"Really –"

"Shoo, it is done."

He sighed. "In that case, I have to ask you to straighten it a little more, please, if it's not too heavy."

"It isn't," she puffed and did as she was told. "Is it alright like this?"

"Thank you, yes."

"Honestly, how do you men dare using such a thing! I'd be perpetually fretting to cut my own throat accidentally," she merrily chatted away, following each stroke with her eyes like a charmed snake follows the flute.

"One gets used to it."

"Yes, but until then! Do you just give young boys a blade and hope for the best?"

He suppressed a smirk. "Luckily, young boys hardly need it."

"Oh, but you know what I mean."

"It's not nearly as dangerous as it may look to you. After all, one does not _cut_ , but merely scrape."

"I don't mean to prick myself when I'm doing needlework either, it just happens."

"I didn't know you were doing needlework."

"I don't, I kept on pricking myself, so I gave it up."

They both laughed.

"Alas, that is not an option for men. At least men in His Majesty's service. We have to keep on trying until we get the hang of it."

"Additional to all the perils you face in your profession, you start each day off with a deadly weapon at your throat. Is that wise?"

"One might argue it gives one a foretaste of what is yet to come."

"Or you could all just grow a beard. Yours suited you quite well."

He was finished and turned his face to see if he had missed something. He hadn't. "Thank you once more for taking such good care of me. I can only imagine how I must have looked."

" _Wild_ ," she sniggered, and with a loud pant, she heaved the heavy mirror from the bed and leaned it against the wall. "But only at first. Then I took some scissors and cut it short. And that did look very nice. Though I must say I prefer you like this."

"And I would have thought you preferred a pirate's beard."

"Yeah, well... On you I prefer to see your face."

She removed the little hand basin, snatched the towel and began to dab his face with it. He let her. It'd be the last time anyhow to ever have her this close to him.

So he leant back with closed eyes, and found to his own astonishment that he was actually feeling better. A quarter of an hour ago, he had still been utterly devastated. He had thought, before, that losing Elizabeth had been the most terrible thing that could ever have happened to him, only to realise that losing his entire crew felt even worse. He had lost the love of his life, but his integrity and honour had remained intact, and to a man like him, honour was no empty word. Losing the Dauntless on the other hand had lost him his raison d'être, or so it had felt. _Had_ felt, because Groves _was_ right; there was no merit in giving up, he could avenge his men and prevent others from sharing their sad fate. And it had taken nothing more and nothing less but the insouciant prattling of a cheerful girl for him to snap out of his gloom and realise that.

"There you go," she said at last. "Now you're fit to receive visitors."

These visitors arrived much sooner than expected. Not half an hour later, her father returned to the sickroom, accompanied by Marleen and the Lieutenant, and what she had meant to be a party of well-meaning friends turned out to be a gang of heartless scoundrels.

"We've talked about everything," Governor Swann said and cast the Lieutenant a glance. "As soon as Dr. Jennings gives his consent, we shall bring you to the van Dykes, Commodore."

" _What?!_ " Elizabeth stared at her father in nonplussed disbelief.

"Everything is taken care of," Marleen continued unmoved, smiling at the patient and ignoring her appalled friend. "My parents are pleased to welcome you, Commodore –"

"Have you all run mad?!"

"Elizabeth, please calm yourself."

"Calm myself?" she gasped. "How can I calm myself! Take him away from here? But why?"

The Governor's cheeks reddened perceptibly and he adjusted his waistcoat. The two officers exchanged knowing glances. Only Miss van Dyke was absolutely unflappable, put on a smile and elaborated on the convenient guestrooms in her parents' house, but naturally, her friend wouldn't have it. She scolded and yelled with little thought for her patient and wasn't to be moved by her father's attempts to placate her.

Marleen, knowing best how to handle her, finally convinced her to let the Lieutenant have a short word with the Commodore _alone_ and dragged her out of the room. In the hallway – Elizabeth would go no further away than that – she was forced to listen to a quiet, but nonetheless strict lecture from Miss van Dyke. She should be reasonable, she was told, everybody acknowledged what she had done for the Commodore, but she would do him no favour when insisting to make him suffer from her presence – she ought to take care of his feelings, and being nursed by her would certainly only hurt him more –

Like everything that this woman would ever utter, it was nothing but cool reason and common sense, and Elizabeth was disgusted by it. Marleen on the other hand wasn't easily intimidated, least of all by her best friend's fits of temper – she loved her very well, but sometimes, Elizabeth behaved like a child.

"You know I am right, Lizzy," she continued, unabashed. "Sulk as much as you will, it won't make a difference anyway. It is all settled, and if you have the tiniest bit of real concern for the Commodore, you leave him alone."

Scowling at Marleen, she suddenly recollected that one's remark the other day. Oh! _Oh!_ So _that_ was where the wind was blowing! Smart and cunning Miss van Dyke, how well she had arranged all of this! She wanted to be the future Mrs. Commodore and would stop at nothing to achieve it! Did that woman know no shame, preying on a convalescent? Serpent! Nourishing betrayal in her bosom and disguising it as mindfulness!

" _Now_ I see!" she hissed. "Well done, Marleen!"

The accused replied coldly, "I don't think you understand anything at all right now, my dear, but I trust that you will in time, once you have had a good night's sleep."

"No, no, I see right through you!"

"Do you?" Marleen's voice made it unmistakable that she thought her friend was making an ass of herself. "I beseech you nevertheless to consider what's best for the Commodore."

Elizabeth found that she was about the only one around who had nothing but James' best interest at heart, and this was the only reason why she after all surrendered to Miss van Dyke's treacherous cabal. The whole _world_ was conspiring against her; everybody whom she had believed to be her friend was plotting to destroy her happiness! And Marleen was the worst of them all. How terrible all her speeches were ringing in Elizabeth's ears now, how _smart_ a match the good Commodore was. Then there was Will – seeking to make a fortune on the expense of her peace of mind! The Lieutenant detested her anyway, and as for her father – oh well! He never had an opinion of his own, he was always ruled by whoever it was who was speaking!

They would wait for Dr. Jennings, who was to come again in the afternoon, and until that, nothing but the devil himself would have driven the furious Miss Swann out of the sickroom again. She mustered all her strength to give dear James a smile that wouldn't betray her outrage. "How are you?" she asked once they were on their own again.

"I am fine, Elizabeth, thank you."

"No, I mean seriously."

She gave him a very earnest, almost penetrating look, and thinking what great care she had taken of him, he felt that he owed her a sincere answer lest she thought it was his injury making him so miserable.

"To tell you the truth, I am shattered about the death of my men, and I don't think I will..." He swallowed hard. "But I know I have to consider myself unspeakably lucky, and that is something, isn't it?"

"Oh James, I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am. I mean – don't get me wrong, I was deeply dismayed when I heard about your crew, but – but... Well, _you_ have survived, and to me that is all that really matters."

He didn't trust himself to look at her and replied hoarsely, "But that is only natural. You didn't really know any of them, did you? I on the other hand did. I knew each and every one of them. Not very well, perhaps, but I knew them. I knew of their families, of their histories, of their plans... And it is very hard to accept that they are all gone."

"I am so, so sorry, James," she whispered, and startled by her cracking voice, he did look up to her, finding she had tears in her eyes.

He was the sort of man who couldn't handle tears. Not at all. Not only crying women, but tears in general. When confronted with them, he was at a total loss what to do.

"There, there," he murmured apprehensively, patting her hand. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have –"

She shook her head. "No! I'm glad you shared that with me. Makes you so – so human, you know? Forgive me, that wasn't the word I was looking for. Just – you are always so composed, I can never tell what's really going on in your mind. I never knew that you must know all your men. I never even _thought_ about it... There is so much I don't know, and now, when I'd have the chance to learn, you're leaving already –"

"I have overstayed my welcome –"

Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he had at least managed to vanquish the threat of tears by tapping her boiling anger.

"Don't say that! Don't you say that! You are welcome anytime! It's got nothing to do with not being welcome here, believe me..." She bit her lip, blushed, and went on just as forcefully, "I want you to know that I had nothing to do with that scheme to bring you to the van Dykes, they plotted that behind my back!"

He chuckled quietly at her fervour and winced due to the sudden headache it gave him, squeezing his eyes shut. This was her cue to jump up, grab a piece of cloth and dab his forehead.

"You mustn't laugh, James. You must by all means avoid anything that could harm you – I _prayed_ to see you smile, but I suppose I had better wait some longer, for now, you must be very careful!"

"I'll forever be indebted to you for showing me such kindness –"

"Nonsense! How can you say that!"

"Because it's true and because I wish to thank you for all you have done for me."

She fiercely shook her head. "No! _I_ am the one who is grateful I could be of help to you, any help at all! Please, James, don't thank me. Just don't!"

At this point in history, no clever clogs had come up with the concept of mixed messages yet, so the Commodore could only be plainly confused by her entreaty to share his thoughts with her on the one hand, but please, oh Lord, don't speak them out loud. He took refuge in commonplaces.

"But how are _you_ , Elizabeth?" he asked, not merely politely but out of genuine concern. "You appear weary."

Marleen's warnings ringing in her ears, she knew she must not tell him what was on her mind and shrugged vaguely "I'm only a little tired. It'll pass."

"See? And therefore it is a good thing that I am leaving and you can get some rest. Let someone else do the worrying for a while, hm?"

Her eyes sparkled and she opened her mouth for a spirited reply, he could tell, but then she only murmured, "I can come and visit you, can't I?"

"I'm sure you can. Or do you think the van Dykes would mind?"

She scowled. "They well might, but what do I care about their endorsement!"

He looked awkward when answering, "Well – I am their guest and I wouldn't want to trespass on their hospitality."

"Don't worry. They wouldn't be angry with _you_."

"I do not wish them to be angry with you either."

She put on a slightly forced smile. "Really, James, do not concern yourself. Marleen and I... Well, you'll have noticed we had a bit of a row, but it's going to be alright."

But no matter how plucky she tried to appear, she dreaded Dr. Jennings' return. Surely, he was part of the conspiracy and would give his permission to bring poor James away, into the arms of that woman that Elizabeth had thought to be her friend for many years now, but who was in fact nothing but a conniving fortune seeker! He deserved someone better than that! He deserved a woman feeling true affection for him! And Marleen, ever-so-cool Marleen certainly wasn't _that_ woman!

All the same the 'calculating gold digger' won the day. Ignominiously Dr. Jennings complied with the others, so Commodore Norrington was taken to the van Dykes' house early in the next morning, and although his former nurse's fury had been softened a little by a very long and healthy sleep, she was still outraged with everybody, venting it all on the only person in her reach, who happened to be her beleaguered father.

"But my dearest child," he tried to defend himself, thoroughly uncomprehending why she was so unsatisfied with him. "I thought I had understood that you have the Commodore's best interest at heart? So why do you inflict your presence upon him?"

If he had wished to deliberately hurt his daughter (and nothing could have been further from his intentions) he had chosen exactly the right words. _Inflicting her presence upon him?!_ It was awful, simply awful!

"What a horrible thing to say, Papa!" she exclaimed in sheer indignation. "What a terrible thing to impute on _him_ , too! Do you honestly believe he still cares for me – in that way – after all I've done to him?! Isn't his entire conduct sure proof? Nobody could behave more gentlemanly, more proper!"

But the old man recalled Lieutenant Gillette's assertions to the contrary which out of delicacy no one had forwarded to Elizabeth, so he could merely mumble, "Yes, the Commodore's conduct is beyond reproach, and to keep it that way, it is best that he doesn't stay in the same house like his former fiancé."

She scoffed with great bitterness. "Ah, yes, so it is much more proper to have him stay in a house with a nubile and what is more unattached woman, yes?!"

He was puzzled. "I'm sorry?"

"Good Lord, Papa!" she snarled through gritted teeth. "Can it be that you really don't see what all of this is supposed to lead to? Marleen is after marrying the Commodore!"

He raised his brows. "Is that so? I didn't know that, my dear. But that's wonderful, isn't it?"

"No, it is _not_!"

"But she is a very worthy young lady, and your best friend – she's very pretty, and well-bred, and clever after all I've heard –"

"Clever! _That's_ a word! She's cunning, she's plotting, she's – he deserves more than _that_!"

"He deserves more than a pretty smart woman of virtue? I don't understand."

"He deserves a woman who loves him with all her heart, Papa! He deserves no less than that!"

"But my dear girl, only because you don't – erm – have feelings of this nature for the Commodore, it doesn't follow that she hasn't either."

She cast her eyes to the ceiling and forced herself not to shout at him. "Let us just say that I know her, alright? I _know_ she doesn't love him."

He tilted his head. "She doesn't love him like you – hm – love young Mr. Turner?"

"Exactly."

"But Elizabeth – most people don't. I mean... It is all very nice when people marry for passion, but... It is much rarer than you seem to think."

"And yet he deserves it!" she snapped, incapable to lower her voice.

"Yes, of course..."

She knew her father well enough to know that he was far from convinced, and only seemed to give in because he hated to quarrel with her.

She did her father very wrong with her presumptions; Governor Swann understood very well what she had said and would have agreed instantly. His confusion rooted elsewhere. He had known Miss van Dyke for six years, ever since her father had seized the chance to establish his business in the just blossoming town of Port Royal. In a manner of speaking, he had seen the young lady grow up, had taken delight in his daughter befriending her, and was very much inclined to think only the best of her. The van Dykes were decent people, and he had always found that their daughter had a very healthy influence over his own, sometimes very inconsiderate child. He had always admired the young lady's guarded temper and therefore wasn't ignorant of the fact that she was very unlikely to fall for any man like his dear Elizabeth had fallen for her young blacksmith, but he failed to see the fault in this. _Of course_ the good Commodore deserved an equally good wife who was honestly attached to him; what he couldn't see was why Elizabeth would so absolutely reject this possibility in her friend. Honest affection needn't spring from violent fancy only. Remembering his dearest Mary, he found that she had certainly never fancied himself like Elizabeth fancied her Mr. Turner, but he had also no doubt that she had truly loved him all the same. Perhaps it was his daughter's youth and lack in experience that made her so unjust against her friend, but he did not dare to tell her that.

It had never come to his mind that Miss van Dyke could attach herself to the Commodore; he had been too preoccupied observing the young man's budding feelings for Elizabeth and rejoicing in the idea that this most excellent man should take over from himself to care for her. In fact, he had believed that Commodore Norrington would make a far better job of it than he, Weatherby Swann, had. Instead she had thrown herself into the arms of a boy who resembled her so much in youth and impetuosity, with the additional defect of having no influence over her whatsoever. Well, the Governor hadn't given up hope yet that perhaps Captain Stansfield would fare better.

Briefly, to be precise: before the Captain's arrival, he had intended to alleviate his daughter's heart and assist his future son-in-law's career by buying him a commission to join the higher ranks of His Majesty's Navy, therefore promoting Elizabeth's sooner happiness. He wouldn't endure to see his dearest child fade away with time and weariness. But right now, he intended to wait a little longer. As long as Captain Stansfield was around, he wouldn't give up hope that Elizabeth could fall for him, and until that, he'd do nothing that could increase her optimism.

With his easy-going manners, the young man was already a favourite with many of the town's eminent figures – Governor Swann was not alone in hoping to catch him as a son-in-law. There was a certain irony to that preference in so far that none of these people so enamoured of the Captain would have traded him for their own head of fort – living under the Commodore's protection was so much more reassuring than any other man's could ever be – but would happily have given him their daughters' hands in marriage. Then again, they'd all have given their daughters to Commodore Norrington as well, really, any of the two of them was welcome to any of their girls.

Still, neither showed any particular inclination in that quarter. Among his men, the Captain's had been known to say, "Why should I chase a girl when I can have a dozen girls chase me?"

"Sportsmanship?" his cousin had once suggested as an answer.

"I'm no sportsman, Henry. Never took an interest. Give me a game of cards any day. Love, like cards, is no question of persistence but of luck."

Still, he seemed quite persistent these days, visiting the Commodore almost every day even though they had never been closely acquainted, and making a point of seeing the daughter of the house as well when he did so. Then again, this might be a mere token of courtesy, a sugar-coating of the pill so to speak, because he would have to come and report to his superior officer anyway, and being him, he didn't enjoy the stuffy technicality of the business, or the Commodore's utter lack of anything like humour.

Really, he wouldn't have begrudged his cousin to be made the acting head of the fort, as Henry had so dearly wished – and argued – for. But the question of precedence had been resolved at once when the Commodore had woken up. Of course, _he_ knew these things, and in hindsight Stansfield was ready to acknowledge that the answer had been quite obvious to begin with. As the highest-ranking officer in situ after Commodore Norrington, he was to remain his deputy for the time being, until the arrival of Admiral Thompson anyway.

This one had announced himself to arrive within the next week, spelling 'trouble' in capital letters. The Commodore would have to explain how it was possible to lose _two_ ships in only three months, why Jack Sparrow had pulled his head out of the literal noose _twice_ directly under the eyes of a whole Navy squad and his own, and finally, how come that said Captain Sparrow of all people had been the one to ship him back home.

The Commodore knew enough of the Admiral to foresee his only possible reaction. In a few days, James Norrington would no longer be the lord and master of all troops stationed between Grenada and Montserrat – alas, he hadn't held that post long enough to grow accustomed to it anyway – and possibly be demoted as the head of the fort of Port Royal as well. Captain Stansfield would replace him as the Commodore of the South Eastern Caribbean, but was likely to remain stationed in Kingstown, Lieutenant Gillette would see his dearest wishes fulfilled and become both a captain and head of the fort at last, and James would be called to his service. Still, this prospect left him strangely unmoved. So he'd be a simple Captain again, and although he should have minded strongly, he did not.

He had other worries. For a start, he would have to hold his hand over Elizabeth's fiancé, though he scarcely knew how he should accomplish this. It had all been very well as long as his own and the Governor's authority had been the only ones in charge of the matter. The Admiral however wasn't likely to be lenient with any young man commandeering Navy vessels and springing wanted pirates from prison or cutting them off the gallows or otherwise assisting in their escape. He would simply brand young Mr. Turner a pirate, thus removing him from the civil arm of the law and turning him over to the naval, and then depending on Thompson's goodwill (which was bound to have been sapped by the loss of two excellent ships), he'd either be thrown into jail for a long, long time, or taken to the scaffold straightaway.

Then there was, if only temporary, the matter of his concussion, which would probably tie him to bed for another fortnight, gave him blinding headaches at times, and sometimes even let him question his own perceptions. Maybe it was only because he wasn't accustomed to so much leisure but he couldn't shake off the feeling that since he was back, things seemed somewhat strange and so where the people around him.

There were his hosts to begin with, the van Dykes. Mr. and Mrs. van Dyke had always been civil, but now they treated him with a kind of reverence he couldn't quite place. Then there was their daughter. He had never really noticed her even though she had been Elizabeth's friend and they had often met before. Miss van Dyke was exceedingly attentive and friendly, she was a pleasant person to talk to, and he appreciated her tact and good manners. Yet there seemed to be something about her, as everybody and their uncle – her parents, the servants, why even Lieutenant Groves – kept on talking about her in a strange manner that was somewhat incongruous with James' own perception of the lady.

He was also confused by Captain Stansfield's attentiveness, calling almost every day and forwarding news that scarcely needed forwarding, and solicitously inquiring after his state of health and mind. He knew the Captain of old when he had been an ensign still, and he had never struck him as the overly concerned type. Sometimes it was all he could do to stop the younger man from shaking up his pillows.

As for Elizabeth – she was behaving as weird as – in fact, he failed a proper comparison for her behaviour. She was just everything she had never been, at least in his presence ever since she had grown up; she was caring – alarmingly caring sometimes, one day for example, she had actually advised him not to _smile_ in order not to worsen his headaches – she was amiability personified without losing any of her wont spiritedness, she was easy-going and playful, yet serious-minded when the topic warranted earnestness. If these were the effects of being engaged to the Turner boy, he should perhaps stop being unhappy about it. _Perhaps_.

They talked for hours on end about every possible kind of subject, and he noticed that he, too, was quite changed in his ways towards her. Since courting her was out of the question and he no longer needed to impress her, he felt quite at ease even when letting his guard down, for example when confiding in her his despair over losing his crew, or his conflicting sentiments about avenging them. On the one hand, he felt the dire urge to do exactly that and as soon as possible – on the other he had some serious reservations about the concept of revenge, which at first though sweet, bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

"It might do that in the hands of a lesser man than you are," she once answered to his scruples, "but in yours it would not be revenge but justice. A small mind would only seek to restore his pride, yet you only think of vindicating their lives which were so unjustly ended. What is more – you could not even choose not to pursue these villains, you'd have to do so anyway, but in doing so, I trust that, as always, you'll be guided by nothing if not humanity and common sense."

Her words soothed his soul, allowing him to trade the unprecedented hatred he felt for these pirates for more profitable thoughts, for example how he was to catch them in the first place. At present, the only ship around that was capable of such a mission was Captain Stansfield's Fortuna. Admiral Thompson was bound to bring one or two new ships with him, and James could only pray that he'd still be allowed to captain one of them.

Above all he couldn't but feel that there was something distinctly fishy about the entire business. Three ships sailing under Dutch colours and disguising themselves as merchants – alright. Clever enough. The Dutch were no power in this part of the world, divided under British, Spanish and French rule as it was, and no patrolling ships of any of these nations was likely to interfere with a small merchant fleet of a nation posing no threat to them. So far, so good. But...

"It was as if they had been _waiting_ for us," he mused aloud one afternoon. Elizabeth had come to visit as always around that time, and they had talked about the subject a little. He found it very pleasant to share his thoughts on this head with her; she knew about his grief, shared it to a certain degree and yet her vivacity never allowed him to give himself up to his gloom.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look at it. No ship, not even three of that size, would ever have dared to tangle with the Dauntless. They wouldn't have stood a chance. Had it not been for the hurricane, we would have bombed them out of the water as soon as they had fired their first shot. Yet there they were – they must have been so close, _just_ out of sight, before the storm broke, and they seized the first chance they got – the _only_ chance they'd _ever_ get – to attack us."

"Perhaps they really were waiting for you."

"But that's not possible, is it?"

"You tell me. Isn't it?"

"In the first four weeks already we carried off our planned course by six hundred miles. The change in weather made me assume that Sparrow – I am sorry, _Captain_ Sparrow –" He winked at her and was awarded a hearty giggle in return. "– would shun the North. The Black Pearl isn't heavy enough to brave rough seas for more than a few days at a time. And when we took in provisions in Sandy Bay I was informed that the Spanish had just doubled the bounty on his head, giving me the idea he'd stay off the Spanish Main as well. So even if they had somehow got wind of our initial plans, we simply weren't where we were supposed to be."

"But you were, weren't you? My father was terribly worried because he knew the Dauntless was cruising in the area that was worst affected by that storm."

"Yes, but he only got that from our own people, because we regularly reported back about our plans. It would have been impossible to guess for anybody else."

"They could have followed you all along."

He shook his head. "We would have noticed them sooner or later."

"Yes, but would you have paid them any attention? A little merchant fleet..."

" _All_ ships sighted are registered in the log."

As he said it, he realised that yes, these records had existed on board, and he had personally pored over them every day. Yet in the dozens and dozens of ships on these lists, there might comfortably have been a mention of one or two or three Dutch vessels without raising his suspicion.

He had been silent for a minute following this train of thought, and now exclaimed, "That is a _very_ good idea, Miss Swann! It's a pity the log is lost so I have no possibility to check once more. What I can do though is inquiring elsewhere if other ships recorded three ships under Dutch colours."

She was pleased with his praise, so pleased in fact that she plucked up enough courage to bring up a subject she hadn't dared to touch before. As soon as having been installed as the van Dykes' guest, he had returned to addressing her as 'Miss Swann', which of course forced her to call him 'Commodore Norrington' again. After half a lifetime, calling him anything but James felt wrong and stilted.

Without looking straight at him, she murmured, "Please, I meant to ask you – can't you just call me Elizabeth, like you used to?"

He didn't answer at once, and she couldn't but steal a glance at him. He was staring at his hands, clearly embarrassed, and replied very quietly, "I think your fiancé would dislike that –"

"Oh no, not at all!"

He chuckled, still averting his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely! He – er, he's very fond of you!"

He laughed flat out. "Is he? That's nice, even though I don't understand why he should be."

'You saved his life twice!' was on her lips and she could barely swallow the words before uttering them. Better not go into a debate on why he had done it the second time round. So she said instead, "You've always been his hero, you know?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm serious! Ever since you fished him out of the Atlantic, he wanted to be like you. He only learnt sword-fighting because of you."

"Now that's – a little bewildering, actually. Are there any two men on this island more unlike him and me?"

'At one point in time, you had had something in common,' she thought, and cursed herself for having brought it up. But perhaps she could change direction a little.

"Come on, there is no boy on the entire island who doesn't idolise you, the famous Commodore Norrington, hero of the French Indian War, Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath and the Scourge of Piracy in the whole Caribbean."

He shook his head at hear, laughing. "Nonsensical girl! What do I keep on telling you?"

She laughed, too. "Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name because it changes quarter."

"You actually remember!"

"Of course I do! I do listen _sometimes_ , you know? I only wish you had told Will the same. He even tried to join the Navy."

He still chuckled. "Oh, I've heard of _that_. Lieutenant Groves told me that he wanted to join up one day, but had changed his mind the next."

" _He_ didn't – I did that for him. I had to expressly forbid him, in fact."

" _Forbid_ him! But why?"

"Too bloody dangerous!"

He laughed again and nodded. "Can't argue with that, can I?"

In this moment, they were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Miss van Dyke stuck her head in to announce Lieutenant Chandler.

"Dear me, is that the time!" Elizabeth cried and got up, pointedly not deigning to look at the other woman.

"Thank you for your visit, Miss Swann. Good night," he said and gave her a last smile, which she returned with a suppressed sigh. 'Miss Swann' indeed! Or did he just think he had to keep form in front of Marleen and the Lieutenant?

"Good night, Commodore," she replied equally well-behaved, and upon meeting the Lieutenant, "Good evening and good night to you, Lieutenant Groves."

The young man merely beckoned. "Miss Swann."

Like her, he maintained his habit to see his Commodore twice a day, bringing news, chatting about all that was going on in the fort and elsewhere, and to James' perpetual astonishment, also about the lovely Miss van Dyke.

" _She_ is a worthy young lady, sir," the young man said with emphasis.

"Undoubtedly."

His friend blushed somewhat and unsuccessfully tried to give himself an inconspicuous air. "Have you talked to her parents...?"

"They're my hosts, _of course_ I have talked to them."

"And didn't you – notice something?"

The Commodore frowned wondering what Groves was getting at. Obviously he had something on his mind, but what should that be?

Doggedly the lieutenant tried anew, "Sir, I do not mean to impose myself. But – well – I've heard some things, and I wonder…"

"Speak as plainly as you always do, Groves, that's one of the things I rate you most highly for."

"Oh very well… As I heard, Mr. van Dyke and his wife – they'd be very pleased if you – sir, have you any intentions of proposing to Miss van Dyke?"

The Commodore's jaw dropped and he gaped at his friend without any of his customary dignity. "I beg your pardon?"

The young man's colouring could have shamed any proud tomato. "Forgive me for intruding in your personal affairs, sir, I was just wondering. After all, she _is_ a fair lady…"

James hadn't yet recovered from his speechlessness when said fair lady knocked and looked in once again. He gathered his wits enough to smile at her, but he was still utterly perplexed. The Lieutenant instantly got up, equally embarrassed and announced that he had to go.

"Let me accompany you, sir." She smiled friendlily, and in the next moment, they were both gone, leaving the Commodore alone with his confusion. Propose to Miss van Dyke? He hadn't thought of anything like that; as a matter of fact, he hadn't recovered from his _last_ proposal and had no intention to make another!

Nevertheless, he gave it a thought or two. Frankly, he thought the greatest part of the evening about it since he had nothing much else to do.

Marry Miss van Dyke? What an outlandish idea! But why was it outlandish? She was in every respect a most excellent young woman, intelligent, erudite, accomplished, and very, very pretty if one came to think about it. Other men wouldn't have taken years to notice her beauty as it was quite eye-catching. James Norrington on the other hand had never looked at another woman but his erstwhile fiancée and therefore been proverbially blind to Miss van Dyke's (or any other woman's) graces.

He quite earnestly tried to visualise his nurse these days, her pale porcelain complexion, the little heart-shaped face, the light blue eyes, her strawberry-blonde curls, her short petite figure. Yes, she was a joy to look at, and what was more, he truly liked her. She had a most amiable temper, calm, thoughtful, modest, and rather guarded. In fact, she resembled him in many ways as far as her reserve was concerned.

Could it be enough of a foundation for a marriage to _like_ somebody? He _had_ a high regard for the young Miss, so perhaps… Would his heart mend faster if he tried to bestow all those feelings he had for Elizabeth on another woman? Wasn't it perhaps _better_ to base a marriage on regard and sense than such excessive emotions as were tearing him apart now?

He remembered his parents – he hadn't seen them for twelve years and did not think of them very often. His parents hadn't married for love, no. They had married because it was a proper match, a _smart_ match. Had they been happy? He found that he couldn't answer this question. Neither of them had ever shown signs of great affection for their spouse, but this didn't necessarily mean that they had been unhappy, did it?

He needn't examine his feelings for too long though. He wasn't in love with Miss van Dyke, not at all. He did love Elizabeth, he loved her not a jot less than on the day he had proposed to her, more perhaps, if that was even possible. But she _was_ engaged to another man that _she_ was madly in love with, so he _must_ put her out of his heart and mind.

And that was just it, wasn't it? Just like Elizabeth could never be his wife because she loved somebody else, he ought not to contemplate marrying any girl as long as having such deep feelings for another. It just wasn't proper.

At any rate, had anyone made the effort to ask the young lady in question what _she_ thought of all this? Her parents' wishes – oh well, had it been for Governor Swann's wishes only, he'd be the Commodore's father-in-law by now!

What if he had known that Miss van Dyke would indeed have been inclined to accept an offer of marriage from him? It was true after all, but Elizabeth was wrong in believing that it was mere calculation driving her friend, whose very name had all of a sudden become anathema to her. True, Marleen's heart wouldn't beat faster when she was in the same room with the Commodore, but then she did not expect any such thing anyhow. She was, however, acutely aware of all his merits; she esteemed him most highly, and this was all she would ask for in a man. Nevertheless, her plan to bring him to her father's house hadn't originated in any hidden agenda as Elizabeth imputed on her, but from her genuine concern to relieve him of her friend's sight. She was certain that the girl couldn't fail to realise this, too, once she had calmed down her overstrained nerves.

Some 'good nights' sleep' weren't doing the job as she had expected though. Since the Commodore had been brought to the van Dykes' mansion, Elizabeth called twice a day like clockwork to see after the patient, and she was well-mannered politeness itself in his presence. To her friend Marleen however, she spoke not a word outside of 'Good day' and 'Goodbye'.

This line of behaviour, though not entirely uncharacteristic, annoyed Marleen. _Why_ did Elizabeth always have to make such a terrible _fuss_? Why couldn't she simply admit she had been wrong, or at least acknowledge that nobody had offended her? Why was she so unable to see that the whole plan had been designed to gratify her own feelings as much as the Commodore's? Because that constant feeling of guilt that the man's presence seemed to instil in her could hardly be pleasant for her either, could it?

Well, at least Marleen had soon found some relief for the absence of her best friend, because both Lieutenant Groves and Captain Stansfield regularly called to visit the Commodore, and always found time for a cup of tea or a game of cards afterwards.

The Captain was everything his appearance promised to be, hearty, cheerful and gallant in a tongue-in-cheek manner. She was quite surprised at the Lieutenant though. They had of course known each other by face and sight (Port Royal wasn't that big after all, and also as Elizabeth's friend Marleen had often been invited when the officers from the fort were guests in the Governor's house), but she couldn't remember to have ever really talked to the man. As it turned out, he was sensible, unaffected, spirited, confident and possessed a sharp sense of humour. They spent a good deal of time together, and with great interest, she listened to his story-telling about his family, his time in the Navy, and not at last, the Commodore.

Robert Groves, twenty-six and in His Majesty's service for ten years, had been the youngest of four sons to a farmer, but was entirely without wistful memories of that part of his life, which had been determined by hard labour, bad weather, and hunger very often. So he had sought his luck in joining the Navy, and he had found it, speaking with great delight of the voyages, the battles, his Commander and declaring with a grin, "I'd trade Northern England's rain and soil for the Caribbean sun anytime again, Miss."

"But isn't it terrible to be away from home, Port Royal I mean, for so long? And all the dangers –"

"Being on board is far more pleasant than staying in the fort, Miss van Dyke, believe me, at least once one is an officer. What has happened to the Dauntless has been incredibly bad luck, she would have mastered the storm, and certainly have put every enemy to flight, but such evils combined – it's very unlikely that I shall see another battle like this, and having survived it, I see to the future with nothing but confidence."

She nodded, yet doubtful, but the more she heard from him, the more she believed. Perhaps a sailor's life wasn't as bad as she had always imagined it, at least when one had left the lower ranks behind. According to his First Lieutenant, Commodore Norrington was a good superior, and this she believed most readily.

"You mustn't make the mistake to judge him from appearance, Miss. I know, he seems to be very – well, reserved, and he is in a way. But I've never heard him scold one of his men unfairly, he's always been caring and fair. I owe all my luck to him. You must know, it doesn't happen too often that a man like me gains such a position. But the Commodore isn't conceited; he will promote anyone who can sail well, no matter of what stock they are. With another commander but him, Lieutenant Gillette would surely be in my place, he is a baronet's son."

"I've always been suspicious of making one's living on board of a ship, sir, but after all you tell me, I shall eat my words."

"You don't like sailing?"

"Dear me, no. I cannot stand it. I've had to endure two long voyages, one when moving here, and one this year when my father thought it would be nice for us all to accompany him to Willemstad, and both times I thought I should die of seasickness."

"Nah, almost everybody gets seasick at first. It gets better with time."

"But it's not very tempting to try again when one has suffered so badly."

"All you have to overcome is your dislike, Miss, and besides – even the Commodore claims he'd been awfully seasick on his first journey. But then, perhaps he only said so because I was hanging above the railing at the time, ready to jump overboard only to make it stop."

He grinned cheerfully and received some hearty laughter in return.

"He does appear to be a very good superior."

"The best!" he answered earnestly, adding more sombrely, "I wish everybody would think as you do."

"But who could say anything else about him?"

"Oh, there _are_ people! Admiral Thompson has sent a dispatch – he is most unsatisfied with Captain Sparrow's repeated escape, and wait what he'll make of the loss of the Dauntless. You should have heard him after the Interceptor was stolen!"

"But none of this was the Commodore's mistake."

"Apparently, that's a matter of perspective. Do you think Admiral Thompson cares about some Governor's daughter? If she's in league with a pirate – put her in jail! _That's_ what _he_ would have done. Same with the Governor's future son-in-law, no, _him_ , they would have hanged right away for commandeering the Interceptor first and facilitating Sparrow's escape then."

She shuddered involuntarily. "Please sir, don't be too strict with them for that. Mr. Turner acted on Elizabeth's behalf, and she intervened for Mr. Sparrow's sake because he had saved her life."

"I owe Captain Sparrow my own life, too, and my Captain's. I begrudge nobody for helping Captain Sparrow, that would be very ungrateful of me indeed."

"Yet you dislike Miss Swann –"

He bit his lips, "I don't like her as well as everybody else does, that's true. In my opinion, she has used the Commodore very ill, and I've seen him suffer for it. _You_ should have seen him, and all because of some spoilt little Miss!"

Marleen sighed and smiled. "I cannot deny that Miss Swann can sometimes appear a little spoilt, very well. But she is a good person, and everybody has their faults. Should she truly have married one man when loving another?"

"Absolutely not, Miss, but she shouldn't have got engaged to him either!"

"Now, now, Lieutenant. The Commodore would have seen her marry somebody else and suffered, with or without a prior engagement. I don't mean to justify her conduct, but do you really think it would have made such a difference?"

"Forgive me for appearing unfair, Miss van Dyke. I don't mean to offend you. But I don't possess the Commodore's goodwill, or the Governor's indulgence. It annoys me to see the little Miss collecting faults and flaws and mistakes in abundance, and everybody excusing her still. 'She shouldn't have done this _but'_ and 'She shouldn't have done that _though'_ – everybody else is held to the same standards, only for Miss Swann, the whole world hastens to make one exception after the other! It's as the Commodore says, Miss. There is but _one_ law for all, the law of humanity, justice, equity."

"I may be mistaken, but the Commodore himself does not seem to hold a grudge against her, does he?"

"That's because he is just too good."

She smiled. "Yes. I was just wondering why _you_ seemed to be so much more upset than he is with Miss Swann."

"Well, someone's got to be! He is too much of a gentleman, but I am just a farmer's son, I went to no great school and not to Mariner's College, so I can speak my mind as I please."

"The poor man!"

"He'll get over her soon enough," the Lieutenant growled.

She grinned. "I rather meant the bit about not being able to speak his mind."

His cheeks reddened. "Please, Miss, I didn't express myself very well there, don't get me wrong. The Commodore does speak his mind like any good man ought to. It's rather – he is just so very well educated, he doesn't call a spade a spade, but looks at the spade – and wonders what the spade is made of – and if it would still be the same spade if you had replaced its handle last year and were going to replace the blade tomorrow. You know what I mean?"

She shook with laughter. "I know _exactly_ what you mean, Lieutenant!"

That night, the young man lay in bed unable to find any sleep at all. He was pretty astonished with himself, but not the firmest will could conquer his insomnia.

A lot of things were circling around in his mind. Admiral Thompson's up-coming inspection, for example – just like the Commodore, Lieutenant Groves wasn't fooled what this one would bring. It infuriated him to think that his friend was to carry the can that little Miss Swann and her suitor had filled for him, that a buffoon like Gillette should be his superior soon, if not in rank then at least in situation. Gillette was no match for Commodore Norrington, but without a doubt the little wretch would delude himself to be even better, and Groves couldn't imagine a worse head for the fort than this man. His arrogance, his vanity, his silliness – these were no traits enabling a man to make the right decisions; he lacked the Commodore's upright sense of justice and reason as well as his courage and fortitude of mind.

The only time the Commodore's unerring understanding had clearly failed him was in his choice of a wife. It was unintelligible to Groves how the man he admired so much could have set his heart so completely on such a stupid little girl like the governor's daughter.

Robert Groves was in his twenties, and his profession had never brought him near lovely young ladies, therefore he never had felt any sentiment comparable to the Commodore's delicate feelings for his former fiancée. Only recently, and under the most unpleasant circumstances, he _had_ encountered a woman which had got his imagination going.

The lady in question was loveliness itself, so virtuous, so modest, so very lady-like... In short, she was as high above himself as the heavens. Lieutenant or not, he was nothing but a poor farmer's son after all, while Miss van Dyke was a rich gentleman's daughter.

Such a woman was far out of his league, and what was more, and much more important too – she was quite likely to be the future Mrs. Norrington. Not only did Mr. and Mrs. van Dyke favour the match, the lady herself wasn't averse to it either (he had overheard her saying so herself). Of course she wasn't! Who but the Governor's foolish daughter could be oblivious of the Commodore's merits? And who, if not a lady of her grace and perfection, would be able to tend the poor man's wounded heart? Already she was nursing his physical well-being, so it could only be a matter of time until the man would realise what a treasure was carrying his breakfast-tray each morning, it was impossible that he should miss it.

Lieutenant Groves loved his superior very well, and even now, he felt no jealousy. The Commodore deserved a worthy woman more than anyone, and even if the incomparable Miss van Dyke had _not_ loved him, she would still never fall for a man like the Lieutenant anyway. If the Commodore wanted her, his friend would not begrudge him, and he hoped that the satisfaction to see two so decent people united should overcome his own grief. With wry amusement he remembered his own words of comfort he had once directed at the Commodore – that there were too many deserving young ladies in the world to wreck oneself because of one who did not return this admiration. He did not miss the irony, but was still convinced that he had spoken the truth. Just that _some_ deserving lady was even more deserving than her fellows could ever be.

But while the Lieutenant didn't have it in him to envy his Commodore, he had noticed, and resented, another man's attentions to the lady. Captain Stansfield showed up almost daily in the van Dykes' house, ostensibly to call on the Commodore, but Groves saw right through him.

Yes, half of the unmarried young women under thirty and their parents might well rave over the Captain, but Lieutenant Groves was _not_ among his admirers, and curiously, neither was the Commodore.

Stansfield had come to visit him and reported of the Admiral's last dispatch, which he had sent from the journey while making berth in Tortola. If all went well and the weather remained what it was, he would arrive in less than a week, and bring with him three brand-new ships, two substitutes for the Dauntless and the Interceptor (and as far as was apparent from the note, to be entirely at the Commodore's disposal), and one for Captain Stansfield himself to replace his battered Fortuna.

James wondered whether he would be as fond of his new ship as he had been of the Dauntless (he had never loved the Interceptor the same way, even though she had, technically, been his first own ship to command; she had been reliable and fast, and he had been proud of her, but nothing more) but could only come to one conclusion: Like Elizabeth was incomparable and impossible to be replaced in his heart, he could never forget the Dauntless.

Naturally, he uttered only half of that sentiment out loud. The unsentimental Captain Stansfield couldn't even sympathise with the censured version, but guffawed, "I wouldn't fret if I was you, Commodore. You'll soon get over your Dauntless when you've set eyes on your new ship! Me, I'm looking forward to my new one – the Fortuna is only fit for scrap."

Something must be wrong with a man who would so easily replace one ship for another. Or was it because the Captain acted as head of Fort Charles – a position James had held for five years now and been very proud of indeed – that he could not help himself but feel a certain dislike for the man? Or were they just too different in their disposition? Or – as Groves had grimly suggested – could it after all be true that perhaps he was experiencing a certain kind of jealousy for a man courting Miss van Dyke?

Incidentally, Lieutenant Gillette wasn't very satisfied with his cousin either. He hadn't really hoped to become the acting head of the fort once Norrington had recovered consciousness, all the same he resented to be passed over once again, and he made no secret of his discontent. Now he set all his hopes in the Admiral's arrival, yet Richard only mocked him.

"Don't hang your hopes too high, Henry," he cried and slapped his cousin's back with gusto. "The way I see it, Thompson would promote that Groves chap over you any day."

Gillette was scandalised with the mere suggestion. "Surely not!"

"Had it been _you_ carrying your Commander on your back through half of the Caribbean, you might have a fighting chance. But knowing you, you wouldn't have done so in the first place. Anyway, don't worry. It'll turn out fine."

"Easy for _you_ to say," Gillette grumbled. " _You're_ all set, after all!"

"As I keep on telling you, a man makes his own fortune. We'll see you right eventually."

But Gillette felt ill-used as always and his grudge wasn't to be placated, and neither was Elizabeth Swann's. She was disgusted that Marleen didn't even _try_ to make amends. Elizabeth paid her back by ignoring her, but Marleen seemed oblivious to this anyway. Instead, she was ingratiating herself with the Commodore's confidante Lieutenant Groves to secure her victory from all sides. Despicable behaviour! How could she have overlooked Marleen's deceitfulness in all the years she'd known her? To exploit a man's injuries and sneak through the back door of his heart like a thief at night! And how _slyly_ she did all of this, all the time holding up the mask of alleged virtue. But finally Elizabeth had seen her for what she was. She'd talked to Will about it, too, but he simply refused to see the problem.

"I'd have thought you were gratified when your two friends are attracted to each other?" he had asked, his big brown eyes making him look like a puppy, and she had wished to slap him for his ignorance.

"They are _not_ attracted to each other, how often do I have to tell you? She only wants him because he is such a 'smart match'!" she spat out the words in contempt.

"But I thought she is very rich herself, isn't she?"

"What's that got to do with anything?! Money, pah!"

"Easy for you to say," he mumbled a trifle rebelliously. Her disregard for _money_ , simply because she'd never lacked it, put his nose out of joint now and then.

She glared at him, well noticing the undertone but unwilling to give way and if it was merely for an inch. "If he didn't posses a penny, he'd be a smart match still, he's successful, he's brilliant, and too good at heart to even understand that she's only nice and careful to make him marry her!"

"Well, that's what people normally do when they want somebody to marry them, isn't it?"

There it was _again_ , a hint of revolt, for which she punished him with a look of disdain and no further answer. It was useless to argue with him, he didn't understand, and what was more, she didn't _want_ to argue; they'd only just made up after their last row. He had begged her forgiveness, and she had graciously granted it; still, she was not content. After forbidding him to join the Navy, their wedding seemed to have become an event of the very distant future and she was at a loss what else could be done.

Her fiancé had no readymade idea at hand either and could only hope that with the Commodore's gradual recovery, she'd change her mind after all. He could think of no other honourable profession to make his fortune and he thought he'd be quite good at it, as his adventures with Jack had proven.

Jack – wasn't it the strangest thing he had ever heard of, that Jack of all people had saved the Commodore and his men? _Jack and Norrington?_ How lucky that the latter had been unconscious during the journey; he couldn't imagine how these two would otherwise have gotten along! Jack, drunk, irreverent and criminal, was everything that the Commodore was not, and must hate in another. Jack on the other hand had always mocked Norrington's 'Holier than thou' attitude and regarded it as his personal masterstroke to steal the Interceptor from under his nose.

Of course Elizabeth had been similarly amazed when she had heard about it at first, but by now, she claimed it to be the most natural thing in the world.

"Come on, Will – what else should he have done? Leave them all to die? He owes it to the Commodore."

"Your lovely Commodore wanted to _hang_ him, Elizabeth," he retorted scornfully.

She shook her head at him. "No, he didn't. I know for a fact that James felt very uneasy about executing Jack, but it _is_ his job after all."

"James?"

"Besides – he let him go, didn't he? Could there possibly be any other officer in the entire Royal Navy who would have allowed him to escape?"

"You call him ' _James'_?"

She took umbrage to his reproachful tone, and snapped, "No, actually I don't. I did call him James for half my life though and might be excused for slipping back into the habit now and then!"

"So how does _he_ call _you_?"

"Miss Swann, if you must know!" she spat, recalling her assertions that Will wouldn't mind if he called her Elizabeth, and her own upset that he continued to refrain from doing so. Unfairly, poor Will was to reap the consequences of her anger now. "That's an impertinent thing to ask me! Even _if_ he said 'Elizabeth' – so what? He has known me since I was a child!"

"So have I, nevertheless I never said anything else but 'Miss Swann' –"

"That's not true for a start, and then you have clearly forgotten how strongly I disliked it!"

He looked like a beaten puppy again, and though she usually found that very sweet, she was too angry still and would rather have scratched his beautiful brown eyes out than get lost in them. What exactly was he insinuating there? That he was jealous of that man that she had left for him?!


	11. White Lies

**White Lies**

* * *

 _Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most truly kept the law._

 _JOHN MILTON_

* * *

Admiral Thompson and his small fleet arrived and every soldier in Port Royal stood to attention in their best uniforms. Against Dr. Jennings' urgent advice and despite Miss Swann's desperate appeals, Commodore Norrington temporarily traded his sickbed for the fort to welcome his superior, although he couldn't deny that it took all his willpower to ignore his headaches, overcome his nausea and keep up his unfaltering pose.

The Admiral's face promised no good while he reviewed the troops and was in turn reviewed warily by the Commodore and Lieutenant Groves, only Captain Stansfield's good humour wasn't to be conquered, and why should it? His new ship was anchoring in the harbour, and he was the only high-ranking officer around that had no reason to worry; he would soon set sails and return to Kingstown and that was that.

The Governor had come too, of course, and was accompanied by his pretty daughter, who disliked parades, but had more than one reason to attend this one. For a start, she was determined to watch over the Commodore's disquieting state of health, since clearly nobody else would do it. How could he be so utterly unreasonable, exposing himself to the dazzling heat and merciless sun? She was shocked that Marleen should have let him go, once more appalled with that woman's sangfroid.

Just as vital for Elizabeth's determination to attend yet another boring parade however was her urgent desire to face the Admiral; her father had dropped some hints that Thompson seemed to have expressed his resolution to dish out some punishment. Elizabeth however would not stand for it. She would do everything in her power to prevent any harm coming Will's and the Commodore's way, even if she had no idea yet how she should do it.

Fortunately neither the Governor nor the Commodore had any idea about the young lady's plans; it would have increased their uneasiness rather than relieved them. Even a well-meaning father like Governor Swann had realised by now that he would have to bridle his child's temper lest it got her into severe difficulties that even his influence wouldn't keep her safe from. As for the Commodore – he was a man of the law, he had internalised the rules of the Navy and knew how useless any intervention from Miss Swann's side would be as well as the underlying dangers. He cared only little about his impending degradation, as long as he would get a ship to avenge the one he had lost.

Once the formal welcome was over, the upbraiding was to come, and the Admiral, his attending officers, the Commodore, the Captain, the two highest Lieutenants, Governor Swann – and to everybody's confusion _his daughter_ – went over to the Commodore's office.

Governor Swann attempted to send her away with no avail; the Admiral pointed out that it was 'not a woman's place' to be present. Even the Commodore tried to hint that she had better leave, but the girl would not budge. With unveiled defiance, she declared that she had any reason to attend this meeting, as the Admiral would soon see for himself, and no earthly force would drive her away. The old sailor merely cocked an amused eyebrow and returned her glare with one of his own, but at least in silence.

The first to give his report was Commodore Norrington. He stood very straight and spoke with a steady, detached voice, sticking to facts only, but as anybody remotely more familiar than the Admiral with the true course of events soon noticed, he presented a carefully chosen selection. According to his account, Jack Sparrow's very first escape had involved 'a civilian' whose safety 'must not be put at risk'. His second escape seemed due to some unspecified fault with the hinges of his cell door. Afterwards he had 'blackmailed' yet another civilian into assisting him in commandeering the Interceptor –

"Blackmailed?" Admiral Thompson asked sharply.

"Indeed. The man's fiancée had been abducted by the pirates and Sparrow insinuated that it was in his power to save the woman in question," Commodore Norrington answered smoothly without missing a beat.

Lieutenant Gillette, who had suffered some indignities during the theft of the Interceptor such as being threatened at gunpoint and forced to swim ashore due to another 'accident' opened his mouth for a cutting rectification, but was stopped by his cousin's restraining hand. Captain Stansfield grinned like a child in the circus and whispered, "Oh, do shut up, Henry!"

Admiral Thompson raised a brow. "Ph! Have you arrested that man by now, Commodore?!"

"No, sir. He is not a military man and therefore not subject to the naval code of law. He pleaded for a state of emergency and was granted clemency by the Governor in whose authority the civil laws fall."

With strained haughtiness, the Governor nodded; the Admiral could have nothing on him, but given the circumstances, he felt very awkward nevertheless. Elizabeth meanwhile observed the hem of her dress with an intensity that by right should have unpicked the seams. She dared not raise her eyes. And in this curiously distorted fashion the tale went on.

How lucky that the incredulous Admiral goggled at Commodore Norrington during his entire report or the gobsmacked expressions of pretty much everybody else in the room would have given the game away. Elizabeth scarcely believed her own ears, alternately blanching and blushing with every delicate new spin her former fiancé took only to avoid naming her, or come to that, mention Will's part in the whole disaster.

She had never suspected that he could be capable of telling a falsehood, and was excessively impressed how smoothly he lied now, for the sake of a man that he must hate like no other!

The Admiral cleared his voice, "So much for that. One of the best ships of the entire Royal Navy commandeered by a pirate and a civilian, _directly_ under the eyes of our troops. Humph. I see. Go on!"

"Having lost the Interceptor when engaging the Black Pearl in combat, Sparrow was marooned by the Black Pearl's crew. We managed to pick him up by chance and were so lucky as to find out about Barbossa's chosen destination, the Isla de Muerta. We duly took up the pursuit and managed to save the hostage –"

"The hostage...?"

"Didn't I mention that the pirates had abducted a young woman? Her fiancé arranged her to be released in exchange for himself."

"How noble."

"Indeed."

"Go on. I've been dying to hear _this_ part of the story ever since I first heard about it!"

"Sir?"

"The curse, man! What about that blasted curse everybody is blabbing about?"

Regarding credibility, _this_ part of course was the most fantastic of them all, even though in terms of comprehensive truthfulness it was the only realistic so far. The Admiral wouldn't believe it nonetheless, but was confronted by the five vigorously nodding adults, who had witnessed the whole thing and couldn't _all_ have run mad. He swallowed, "I see. Oh well. Do go on, Commodore, it can't get much worse, can it?"

Oh, but it could, as James knew just too well. The day of Sparrow's second scheduled execution was recounted in great detail concerning the preparations – and hushed over lightly regarding everything that followed.

"I don't understand," the Admiral said with a nasty sneer. " _How_ exactly did Sparrow survive his hanging...?"

"That was an accident, sir," James soldiered on bravely, avoiding everyone's face but the Admiral's. "A man in the crowd, a good Christian, wished to spare even a criminal from the agony of being hanged, so he threw his sword at him but missed him. In the following confusion Sparrow could make his escape."

"And did you arrest that Good Samaritan, at least?!"

"Once again, sir, the man happened to be a civilian and therefore a subject of the Governor's jurisdiction."

Thompson turned to the old gentleman. "And...? Let me guess – you let him go free?"

Governor Swann drew himself up. "I don't have to justify my decisions to you, sir!"

The Admiral sneered. "Of course not, of course not. Where was I? Ah, yes... Captain Sparrow's _third_ lucky escape from the law. Well, three's the charm, isn't that what they say? Alas, I still don't understand how he could get away."

"He tripped over a ledge and fell down the cliff."

"And of course you've set after him and fished him out?"

Even Lieutenant Gillette winced back with the dripping sarcasm in the Admiral's voice, but the Commodore merely smiled. "No sir, he was instantly rescued by his old crew. However, we took up the pursuit directly in the next morning."

"And why, might I ask, didn't you follow him straightaway?"

"The Dauntless is – _was_ – much slower than the Black Pearl, sir. We wouldn't have captured them immediately, and it takes some preparations for a longer journey, as you of course know."

When a man had a reputation for being honest, honourable and as straight as an arrow, he wasn't lightly accused of being insincere, and clearly not even the Admiral in his scorn found it in him to openly doubt Commodore Norrington's account, which from any other man he'd have branded sailor's yarn and declared reason enough for a court martial. He put his tongue in his cheek and gnarled, "Of course. Well, well. So let us come to the final act, then."

Privately, James exhaled with relief. From this point on, he needn't guard his every word. There was nothing to remonstrate with in his conduct and neither Elizabeth nor her fiancé played any part. He described the last voyage of the Dauntless exactly as it had happened and quickly arrived at that final fateful evening.

Elizabeth, who had felt dangerously dizzy ever since this version of the Spanish Inquisition had begun, held her breath until she needed her father's arm for support. How fortunate that the Commodore didn't believe in lively narration, because even this markedly sober report made her spine crawl. She had lived aboard the Dauntless for nine months when coming over from England and she could easily – _vividly_ – imagine the air of tension before the storm broke loose; she felt the incredulous indignation to be attacked during such a tempest, not to mention the utter, unadulterated horror of the exploding powder magazines –

The Admiral asked quietly, "What else could you see of the attackers?"

"Nothing, sir. It was too dark by then to make anything else out."

Captain Stansfield, who had been silent up to now, raised his hand and asked with a frown, "Isn't it possible that the Black Pearl was one of those ships? Especially as we know her to have cruised these waters anyway?"

Both Norrington and Groves shook their heads and declined. The Black Pearl had a very distinct look about her; they'd have recognised her instantly.

The Captain wasn't convinced. "In the middle of a hurricane? Mind you, she might not be clapping on black sails _all_ the time –"

The Admiral shook his head now, too. "The Black Pearl may be the fastest ship in the Caribbean all right, still she cannot be in two places at once. On our way here, we anchored in several harbours, and I've heard one or two stories fitting these three vessels just too well. Three ships sailing under Dutch colours attacked and destroyed a Spanish frigate near Cape San Antonio quite exactly fourteen weeks ago, when the Black Pearl was _here_ to save her Captain – more than 600 miles away from Cape San Antonio. I've talked to the First Lieutenant of the ship myself, a grieved man who got rescued by some fishermen."

Captain Stansfield made a dismissive face. "But why should Dutch merchants attack a frigate, or one of our ships, just as well?"

"Don't be silly," gnarled the Admiral, "If these ships were Dutch merchants, I'm a French princess!"

Apparently, the First Lieutenant was the only survivor of the frigate's crew; he had been hurled overboard when the ship had been hit by heavy impact, which had saved his life. Sombrely the Admiral recounted a report of dozens of horribly mutilated corpses that had been found in the nets of the fishermen of San Antonio in the following days.

Elizabeth had never come to terms with the attack on the Dauntless in the first place. Not only did she find it an insufferable outrage to attack the very ship that had carried her here, the flagship of the man who had very nearly become her husband, and she would never forget those days and nights of fretting for poor James' life. Even less could she forget the sheer pain in his eyes whenever he thought of it. _Now_ , however, she faced the additional shock of imagining the kind of criminal who had all those poor sailors killed, and who had very nearly murdered the man who had very nearly been her husband...

She shuddered violently. Governor Swann, to whose arm she was still clinging, repositioned himself to support his daughter better and was on the verge of suggesting once more that she'd be excused, when Admiral Thompson went on, "After speaking to the fellow I inquired in other harbours. Little could be found out, but all the same I dug out one other sailor who told a very similar story. He, too, was the only survivor of such an attack. He was Dutch himself and told me how his ship was entered by said pirates. He swore that they weren't Dutch, but English, but their Dutch colours had made his own Captain let them come so close. They entered the ship and slaughtered everyone aboard who wouldn't join them, this man only survived because they thought him dead and threw him overboard. He said he'd never seen a man more blood-thirsty than the leader of these pirates, who calls himself 'Commodore Nero'. If there wasn't a lady present, I could tell you stories –"

"Please, don't mind me," Elizabeth murmured weakly. In all truth, she wasn't keen _at all_ to hear more about James' would-be murderer.

She was saved by Captain Stansfield's intervention. "But surely that's just the usual stories, Admiral – they' get attacked by pirates, and afterwards, they _all_ claim that it must have been the devil himself."

"Well, there is such and such, Captain. There are pirates who attack a ship, rob the shipment and leave back the survivors. Others, like the infamous Sparrow, are more specialised on – I would call it scamming, perhaps – few casualties, if any. And every once in a while, there's a bloody slaughterer like L'Olonais who takes pleasure in mutilating his victims before he kills them anyway – excuse me, Miss Swann – until the very last one of them. _You_ should know that better than anyone."

Captain Stansfield bit his lips, nodding. Elizabeth knew that he was thinking of his great battle against Captain Friday, who had been infamous for his boundless cruelty.

"Anyway," the Admiral recommenced with a sigh, "let us come to the end. Please, Lieutenant Groves, enlighten us what happened after the destruction of the Dauntless."

In the same unemotional manner like his commander, Groves recounted how he had spotted the Commodore afloat in the ocean (Elizabeth gasped and clung to her father's am like dear life), made light of dragging him ashore and consequently took less than two minutes before describing their rescue party in the most unlikely form of Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew, who then – yet more unlikely – took it upon them to ferry all survivors back to their home port.

Back at his own sardonic self, the Admiral addressed Captain Stansfield. "Of course, my dear chap, you instantly set out to pursue the miscreants?"

"No," Stansfield replied, gazing briefly at Lieutenant Groves in an apologetic fashion. "I meant to go in the next morning, but had to learn that Sparrow had been granted safe-conduct anyway."

"And who was it to grant safe-conduct to a wanted pirate, Captain?"

Stiff as a poker Groves stood to attention. "I was, sir!"

" _You_ granted a wanted criminal safe-conduct, Lieutenant?"

"With my Captain severely injured, I was his representative, sir. Granting Captain Sparrow safe-conduct was the condition for him to agree to take us back here, and the Commodore was in dire need of medical attention. It found it my duty to acquiesce."

James stifled a sigh; Groves was going to be in so much trouble, and there was nothing he could do about it, nothing at all. The Admiral narrowed his eyes, literally piercing the young man, and baffled everyone present by saying, "You opposed every possible law to save your superior's life, Lieutenant. I shall mark you for a recommendation."

Elizabeth, expecting quite the opposite, had readied herself to give the Admiral a piece of her mind and found her noble efforts thwarted. She shot James a quick glance, finding he looked just as surprised, but being him, was much better in covering it up.

"Does anybody else wish to add anything?" Admiral Thompson asked with a sigh. "No? Very well. It will come as no surprise for you to hear my verdict. Commodore Norrington?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are, as of now, relieved of your post as head of this fort."

His "Yes, sir" clashed with Elizabeth's outraged " _What?!_ " Thompson ignored the young woman and opened his mouth to continue, but she wouldn't have it.

"You can't do that!"

Again, her father's "Elizabeth!" collided in mid-air with the Commodore's "Please, Miss Swann!"

The Admiral gave her a measuring look. "Unless I am very much mistaken, my dear girl, it is not _your_ place to question an officer's decisions."

"But –"

"Two ships lost, more than two eight hundred and fifty sailors dead, a wanted criminal escaping the gallows _three times_ right under the nose of the local head of forces – my hands are tied. I _couldn't_ act any other way even if I wished to."

"But _listen_ –"

"Please, Miss Swann, be quiet," the Commodore interrupted her softly with a very pointed glance. Had it been anyone else telling her off, she would have revolted, but both his tone and look muted her at once.

"Since acting without foresight doesn't directly violate the naval code and you've been my most exemplary officer for more than a decade, you shall remain Commodore of the South Eastern Fleet, and the Challenger is yours to command. The nominal head of Fort Charles, however, is to be Captain Stansfield for the time being."

Stansfield stood to attention. "Yes, sir."

"Since this is a promotion by default, not merit, you will remain a captain for a start. I know it is irregular to have a mere captain in technical command of a commodore, on land anyway, but I trust you will sort it all out between you."

Both men bellowed in unison, "Yes, sir!"

"At sea, however, your positions will be as your titles warrant. And as soon as Commodore Norrington's health allows it, both the Challenger and Captain Stansfield aboard the Falcon will set out and get me these darned pirates!"

"Yes, sir."

"I trust you will both gratify my trust in you. Thus, the Commodore may earn his old position once more, and you, Captain, may merit a new title of your own. Captain O'Brian of Queen Anne's Fort is going to retire soon and I should like you to become his successor."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"In the meantime, with the two of you at sea, the Halcyon shall remain here and Lieutenant Groves will act as the nominal head of Fort Charles."

Both Lieutenant Groves' and Lieutenant Gillette's jaws dropped, but before either could say anything other than "Yes, sir", the Admiral went on with a lopsided smirk, "Gentlemen, I think this is all for the moment. I dare say you take great interest in your new ships, so I'd suggest taking a closer look at them." He looked at the Commodore and added softly, "Let us talk about those pirates later."

The officers saluted, were dismissed and headed for the harbour. Elizabeth abandoned her bemused father and hurried after Commodore Norrington, who had briskly walked away without another look at her.

"Commodore," she panted when finally catching up with him, "a word –"

"Not _now_ , Miss Swann," he snarled quietly, still avoiding to look at her.

"I just –"

" _Later_ ," he growled under his breath and she finally grasped that he wasn't so much avoiding looking at her, but pointedly eyed the back of Admiral Thompson only a few paces ahead of them.

"Oh! Oh yes, of course. The – the – your new ship..." she muttered, gazing at the Admiral's back as well and wondering whether he was listening. "See you later, then..."

She turned on her heels and stalked away without any real destination. He'd lied so bravely through his teeth for her, and she'd almost spoilt it all! Oh dear! Oh dear, oh dear, oh –

She came across Lieutenant Gillette, who stood gazing at the Halcyon with a wistful expression and didn't notice her any more than she had noticed him before almost bumping into him.

Her mind was spinning. She couldn't say whether she rejoiced in Will coming out of all this scot-free, or whether she was scandalised with poor James' undeserved demotion (who did this Admiral Thompson, who had treated even her father like some insignificant stand-by, think he was, anyway?!), or plainly horrified that he and the Captain had the order to go after these monstrous scoundrels soon.

Had that pirate the Admiral had spoken of been the same man who had sunk the Dauntless? Good Lord! Had the storm after all saved the crew from a fate even more gruesome? Had James been _lucky_ that things had come like that? And thinking of him – why had he lied?

She had a thousand questions and was impatient to talk to him. Later – what did that mean? _Later_ – he must return to the van Dykes as soon as he could! It could impossibly do him good to stroll around in the boiling sun longer than absolutely necessary. It was noon by now, and there he stood in the harbour, inspecting some silly boat! Instead of a wig and a hat, he should have had a cold compress on his head, and nothing else!

The next person she met was her fiancé, who had come to the harbour as well in order to take a look at the new ships. He quietly asked her how it had been with the Admiral, and looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody could overhear them, she whispered, "I hardly know! Oh Will, you should have seen the Commodore!"

He smiled, "I suppose that means that I'm not going to be hanged within the next fortnight?"

"Oh no, _you_ are safe anyway, for being such a good Christian," she chuckled lowly, receiving a puzzled glance.

"Excuse me?"

"The Commodore," she spoke even more quietly, so he had to bow over to hear her, "he saved your neck, mine, my father's – it was incredible, _incredible_ , I tell you! Your name wasn't even _mentioned_. Not once!"

She saw Captain Stansfield approaching them and put on a brilliant smile. Will saw it well and scrutinized the newcomer with a mistrustful look, but this one didn't seem to notice. Instead he cried, "Miss Swann, Mr. Turner! I'm glad to see that it's not only old sailors who take such great interest in a good ship – makes me hope for my sanity, you know? How do you like them?"

There were three ships, the Falcon on the far right hand which resembled the Interceptor. Next to her lay the Halcyon, and finally the great first-rate ship of the line, the Challenger.

Elizabeth couldn't but admit that she was very majestic and beautiful, made of dark wood and adorned with golden trimmings. She looked just as solid as the Dauntless had, though a little more elegant, sleeker, lighter, but these were no qualities that Elizabeth estimated highly. This would be James' new ship and all Elizabeth cared for was how safe it was and according to her experience, a ship was the more vulnerable the more elegant it was. If one had pressed her in this minute, she'd have said she didn't like the Challenger at all.

Will mustered a civil bow, "They're very impressive. I suppose the Halcyon will be yours then?"

"Eventually, oh yes. For now though I've been assigned the Falcon. Oh well, I like them both. I'm not like your Commodore mourning for his Dauntless – I'll sail any ship I'm given."

"The Commodore is very loyal," Elizabeth said sharply. She knew how heartbroken James was about the Dauntless' fate and wouldn't have anybody make light of it, not even the merry Captain.

Stansfield grinned. "He is, isn't he?"

She understood what he was playing at and was anxious to change the subject, so she cried, "But the Dauntless was his first ship to command, and a very fine one. It isn't replaced easily!"

"A ship is a ship, Miss Swann, it's planks and sails and rigging. One is as good as the other, for all I care, a vessel to reach one's destination. One mustn't be sentimental about it, as I keep telling the Commodore."

She was strangely vexed with his answer and said, "No, sentimentality isn't in your nature, Captain, is it?"

"Hardly so, I prefer to look to the future."

Will witnessed the conversation in uneasiness; the Captain _was_ charming, he had to admit that. His confession of a humorous temper wouldn't harm him with Elizabeth either, who often mocked Will for being too earnest.

"What about you, Mr. Turner – we've been waiting for you to come back. When will you join our merry ranks?"

He hesitated, and Elizabeth said quickly, "Hopefully not at all, sir. What I heard today makes it even less desirable to be a sailor's wife."

"You sound like your good friend Miss van Dyke. But let me assure you – no woman can resist a flashy uniform on the long run."

"According to my experience, most men look far better without one."

"What experience would that be, Miss Swann?" He sniggered, "No, no, I must make a case for my mates and me. Mr. Turner, if your fiancée should ever change her mind – you're very welcome! I hear you are as good a sailor as a sword fighter, there's always need for men like that. But excuse me now; I have to return to my men – in uniforms!"

He went away, still chuckling, and Will murmured beseechingly, "Elizabeth, think about it, _please_!"

"Oh, stop it!" she gnarled, unsure why she felt so angry and remembered her reason to come in the first place. Shielding her eyes against the sun she looked around, but the Commodore was nowhere to be seen. Had he finally listened to reason and returned to the shadows, or preferably, the sickbed?

Her forcefulness made him shrink back. Not at all noticing the dissonance between his fiancée and the Captain (he had been far too busy to admire his indeed flashy uniform) he blamed the latter for her present dissatisfaction with himself. Stansfield was funny, rich, successful _and_ looked dashing in his uniform – how should Elizabeth not be impressed by him?


	12. Discontent

**Discontent**

* * *

 _It's better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than open it and remove all doubt._

 _MARK TWAIN_

* * *

Lying in bed once more with a vinegar compress against his splitting headaches James Norrington recalled the day. And what a dreadful day it had been, full of falsehoods and rash words and undeserved gifts.

He was no longer Head of Fort Charles. That wasn't much of a surprise. That he'd remain the Commodore of the South Eastern Forces and almost instantly be allowed to regain his lost post, however, had been nothing if not unexpected. He saw his demotion for what it was, a token punishment. The Admiral had to do _something_ , and had acted as mildly as he possibly could have. For now, James was on sick leave anyhow, and as soon as he was back on his feet he would sail out and command the small flotilla of ships pursuing that mysterious pirate. He'd either die in the pursuit or be victorious, which meant that he'd be returned to his former post. Really, it wasn't worth fretting over.

He had got two new ships, both state-of-the-art, affording every comfort and in some ways better than the two he had lost – yet he couldn't quite warm up to them. He hardly bothered for the Falcon, but then he hadn't been endeared to her predecessor in the same way he had felt about the Dauntless. And speaking of her – or rather say, speaking of her replacement, the Challenger – his new flagship looked like a piece of confectionery. It was a flashy brass and mahogany affair with _gold trimmings_. He couldn't digest those gold trimmings; they were just too ludicrous for words. Who on earth designed these things? Was there a man somewhere, in London possibly, who looked at a perfectly seaworthy ship and thought to himself, 'what this ship wants is a bit of golden refinery'?

Alas, in terms of quality, the Challenger was an undeniably good ship and what was more, she would serve her purpose, namely to avenge her predecessor. And maybe she would lose some of her superfluous ornaments in the process.

Lieutenant Groves, when walking him back to the van Dykes, quite shared his commander's views on the Challenger, and his perplexity at the Admiral's account of those mysterious pirates.

"One would think that somebody must have heard of them," he mused, frowning.

"Not if there are never any survivors. You know how many ships just vanish and nobody ever hears of them again, they might capsize in a storm, or be destroyed by pirates, and if they are – who can say who's done it afterwards?"

"Yes, yes, I know, but – he must get a crew somewhere…"

"Did Sparrow say anything about that, perhaps? I bet he knows every shady tavern in the whole Caribbean."

"I hardly talked to him, sir. I was mostly in the cabin, with you."

"What about those Sergeants, what's their name... Murtogg and Mullroy. What did _they_ do?"

"Oh, they talked a lot to the crew, I think, but they are rather gormless. Most of the time, they let this Mr. Gibbs regale them with ghost stories. Do you remember Mr. Gibbs?"

"Gibbs, Gibbs – the name rings a bell…"

"He was a seaman on the Dauntless in my first year still. Looks like an overgrown badger. Weird fellow, superstitious to the bone, and usually drunk."

"Oh! Yes, _now_ I know who you mean! Mr. Gibbs, of course!"

"Damn good sailor," Groves mused with a little smile, "but he clearly has some difficulties with authority."

"And with liquor if I remember correctly. So, Mr. Gibbs talked to our Sergeants, did he? I seem to recall he always used to talk _a lot_. I wonder what he might have told them."

Groves blushed self-consciously. "I did not ask them, sir. I thought it to be insignificant."

"It probably was. But I shall like to have a word with them regardless, as soon as possible." He smiled roguishly. "If only Miss Swann won't hear of me leaving my sickbed once more. She'll scold me back into it at once."

"Miss Swann! Who is _she_ to tell _you_ off, I wonder?" Groves snarled, like always vexed with the Governor's daughter. "And what did she think she was doing being present at the meeting today?"

"She meant to protect her fiancé."

"Oh, sod them, sod them both!"

"Please don't speak of her like that."

"Forgive me, sir, but I find it hard not to lose my temper with that – that woman around. She's just so – so – plainly annoying!"

"Miss Swann is an excellent creature, Groves."

"Forgive my impertinence, Commodore, but she really isn't, only you won't see it because you –" he trailed off and blushed. "You ought to see how she treats poor Miss van Dyke!"

James looked pensive. "Yes, I observed they presently seem to be at odds. I even asked her about it, but she wouldn't tell me anything. But then, who knows what young ladies do quarrel about? They will make up again in the end, I'm sure."

Groves took a deep breath. "So what about Miss van Dyke, sir?"

"Miss van Dyke? Oh! Oh, I remember!" The Commodore sneered. "You want me to marry Miss van Dyke, don't you?"

Groves evaded the question and murmured, "She is a very fine lady, sir…"

"She certainly is. But I'd beg you remember that it's not _so_ long ago I asked the last young lady to marry me, I don't think it proper to ask the next one so soon."

"But you _will_ ask her?"

James laughed. "Heavens, you're really determined to find me a wife, aren't you? I thank you for your efforts, but I really think I will manage on my own."

"Of course, sir," Groves muttered and looked away in embarrassment, not happy with these answers at all. He wished the Commodore would plainly say whether he was about to propose to Miss van Dyke or not. "I am sorry for being so..."

"Nosy?" James suggested.

"Concerned!" Groves retorted indignantly.

Talk of the devil and he is bound to appear. Groves wasn't gone for more than five minutes when Miss Swann called, bursting to thank him fulsomely. Not feeling up to scratch yet and his skull fit to burst after the day's exhaustions, he felt quite overcome by her vigour and that she persisted in praising him for being 'such a brilliant liar' took the biscuit after all.

"Telling my superior officer a falsehood right to his face is nothing I was proud of," he countered sharply, but her enthusiasm wasn't so easily checked.

"Yes, yes, but all the same, you were _marvellous_! I wouldn't have thought it possible!"

"Believe me, neither would I."

"How you saved Will's neck! I wouldn't have believed you had it in you!"

Twenty minutes ago, he had still fiercely defended her, but now even the Commodore couldn't but be exasperated. "How _dare_ you? What kind of man do you take me for, Miss Swann?! Did you honestly think I – what – I would try to, as it were, drop your fiancé in it?!"

"No! No!" she cried, all exuberance draining from her face, but he wasn't finished yet.

"Do you think me void of any common decency? Any honour?!"

"But no! I –"

"Even though I thought I wouldn't hold that post anymore after the Admiral had finished, this morning I was still leader of the South Eastern forces and it was my _duty_ to protect the citizens of this town, this island, this part of the world in general and that includes you and your fiancé! Mr. Turner acted in good faith – rash, without a thought of the consequences, surely – but with no criminal intent whatsoever. _I_ know that, you know that, everybody _here_ knows that – but Admiral Thompson did not, and being so unfamiliar with the true character of the people involved, he was bound to get the wrong end of the stick and mete out the harshest punishments. If he had insisted, he could have your Mr. Turner _hanged_ , my dear girl! And if you honestly believe I would have let that happen without trying my best to prevent it, you really know nothing of me at all!"

She looked thunderstruck. For a second or two, he feared she was about to start crying, but she rallied herself, stuck out her bottom lip and nodded.

"Yes, I _know_ ," she croaked, "and that is exactly why I want to thank you –"

"You needn't _thank me_! Didn't you listen? I did nothing but my duty."

"And for that, this horrible little man took away your fort! Oh James, I'm so terribly sorry!"

"Oh please, Elizabeth! I know you believe that thinking ahead, thinking of consequences and actually facing them is but for boring old fusspots such as me, but even _you_ must see that one cannot lose two of His Majesty's best ships, nine hundred twenty-eight men and a pirate without _some_ repercussions!"

"Nine hundred twenty-eight...?"

"You always so charmingly forget the men killed by Barbossa and his crew, don't you?" Seeing her wincing back, he forced himself to soften his voice when continuing, "As punishment goes, this one is a mere joke. Seriously, I couldn't care less."

"But you were so happy – so _proud_ – when you got the post!"

"Yes, I was, but then I still believed I needed it to impress some woman into marrying me!"

He was sorry in the moment these words had escaped his lips, and judging by her face, he could just as well have struck her. Her cheeks turned paper white, tears were welling in her dark eyes and she bit her lip.

"I just want you to know that I _am_ sorry. And very, very grateful. That's all," she whispered, then turned on her heel and literally fled.

Despite his anger, he had half a mind to go after her and beg her forgiveness for his chastisement; he hadn't meant it anyway, but his headaches were killing him and he felt decidedly weak in the legs.

He hadn't just lied to do her a favour. He really, really hadn't. If the Admiral had found that Will Turner was after all _no_ civilian but a pirate – and after commandeering a Navy vessel, sailing out with other pirates and preventing one pirate's execution, he could well be suspected to be one – in this case, the Governor's jurisdiction would have become useless, and Mr. Turner would have been handed over to the naval arm of justice. Thompson, who had been more than lenient in punishing one of his most favourite officers, was bound to have made an example of some young man he'd never seen or heard of, and Elizabeth's grief would have been bottomless. He _knew_ her. She wouldn't have borne to lose her fiancé; she'd have wilted away like a flower. And that _he_ wouldn't have borne. It was as simple as that.

He was aware that Elizabeth had never cared much for his angularity of manners, and wondered whether she was aware that she owed it to exactly that stiffness that her dear William's neck was saved from the rope.

Alas, that's who he was. A mildly boring stickler for the rules, thought to be so unimaginative that nobody suspected him lightly of making things up as he went along. Thank God for that. He had no intention to make a habit out of it; every moment he had felt like a tightrope walker on verge of crashing down. Lying just wasn't in his nature, but it had been the only way, and even if it flew in the face of his life's philosophy, he had learnt that – as important as it unquestionably was to uphold the rules – sometimes you had to bend them a little in order for their spirit not to break. It had been _right_ to save young Mr. Turner, and if it had taken a bunch of little lies, so be it. But as long as the Admiral was still in town and Gillette still sulking not to have been assigned a ship of his own, and what must surely be worse in his eyes, be by-passed for the sake of Robert Groves, twelve years his junior and a simple country boy – it could all yet blow up. It wouldn't take Gillette much to point out the huge holes in that story, and when the Admiral took a closer look… Better not think about it.

Instead, he made plans for the pursuit of those villains who had destroyed his beloved Dauntless. Not in vain he was said to be the scourge of piracy in the Eastern Caribbean. He had fought, and won, more battles than any other soldier his age. He _would_ find them, and he wasn't the least afraid of the next encounter. It was more than unlikely that this should also take place in the middle of a hurricane, and without the hurricane, they wouldn't have dared to mess with the Dauntless! He thought he owed his fame to his ship; it had been her power and reliability enabling him to leave every battle as the winner.

Would the Challenger be only half as glorious? _Golden trimmings!_ He sneered with the recollection of the trite effects of his new ship. Well, no matter, when he found them, he would get them, and if he died pursuing this aim. He wasn't scared of the pirate 'Commodore', as black as he might ever be painted. According to Admiral Thompson, he had forced some of his victims to cut off their own noses or ears and had made them eat their own flesh then. Others, he had hanged with the intestines of their dead comrades. He let himself be called 'Commodore Nero' and in that tradition, he had jumped on the Dutch Captain and stamped him to death.

Well, he was only a man, he could be killed like a man. The same was true for Commodore Norrington himself, all right, but he found that he hadn't got anything else to lose than his life. He had forfeited everything that he loved, only his life and honour remained – and if it cost his life to keep his honour and avenge the Dauntless, so be it.

Fortunately, Elizabeth would never have suspected the Commodore's thoughts in this moment, or her lowness would have been exacerbated by anxiety still. She was terribly distraught as it was. He had been so angry with her! He had _never_ been angry with her before, not even when she was a child still and had persisted to clamber about the Dauntless like a little monkey, being in everybody's way and proud of it.

Why had he been so angry? All she had meant was to thank him, and tell him how sorry she was for this scandalous demotion. How could he have misunderstood her so? Again and again she went through that short, harrowing argument, wondering where he had gone wrong. She was so appalled, she even confided in her father only to have someone to talk to.

The old man listened with a pained brow. "Darling, I keep on telling you to think before you speak," he groaned and shook his head.

"Oh, Papa! Don't you get started on that again!"

"But it's true!"

"It was right and proper to express my gratitude! He –"

"I'm not saying it was wrong to show your gratitude, dear. But from what you told me I cannot but think that you ought to have phrased it a little differently."

"I don't know what you mean!"

Even Governor Swann, who had been quite aware of the perils of the Admiral's visit, had only so much patience with his daughter, and for today it was running out.

"Elizabeth, you do know the Commodore. You know he is a man of the utmost honourableness and worthy conduct. What did you think would happen if you tell a man like him what a terrific liar he is? How did you think he would take it when you impute on him he might have gotten his former rival for your hand in marriage killed off?!"

"But I didn't – he couldn't have –"

"I really wish you would stop pestering the poor man."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' before snapping, "Me! _Pestering_ him! How can you – really Papa, you – I am the only true friend he has on this darned island!"

"And please don't always exaggerate so! His only true friend, indeed! What about Lieutenant Groves, then? The man carried him across two nautical miles on his back! What about me, hm? Am I not a true friend to the Commodore? What about the van Dykes? They –"

"The van Dykes!" Elizabeth flared up. "Oh _please_! Can't you see they're only after him to marry Marleen?!"

"Good for them! He –"

"Good for _them_ , oh yes! But what about _him_?!"

The Governor stood up, looking very old. "I believe we've been here before, child. Now excuse me, I am tired and need to lie down."

Thus he left her alone with her indignation to stew and simmer. She spent some time cursing the van Dykes before coming back to the Commodore and his unanticipated capacities to deceive and equally unexpected wilfulness to misunderstand her. To her amazement she found she was less angry with him than deeply troubled. She had known he didn't have a petty bone in his body, but his magnanimity still impressed her endlessly.

He alone had kept Will from the gallows. Before the Admiral's visit, she had never thought much about this collision of interests; she had imputed that it was simple pigheadedness on the Commodore's part wanting to execute Jack despite his own better judgment, and a matter of course that she and Will weren't taken to account for their part in freeing him. A week ago she'd still have been outraged with the mere suggestion that either of them could be in trouble for their noble deed. But James had known that the day of reckoning was still to come, and he had been ready to give up his own position in order to shield her and the man who had stolen her from him. He had even given Jack a fighting chance to save himself when not setting after him at once. Fast as the Black Pearl might ever be, she wouldn't have stood a chance if he had ordered the Dauntless to fire at her all she had got while the Pearl was still so close. And clearly, he had known that this wouldn't please the Admiral either, but he had done it all the same.

Jack's trial and sentence had contravened her sense of justice then – it somehow still did – because it seemed wrong that a man who was an inherently good person, if weird and selfish, should be measured in the same way like a bad one and receive the same verdict like the members of Barbossa's crew. Never though had she bothered to see things from James' perspective. From where _he_ was standing, Jack had sacked Nassau Port and done countless other acts of piracy (albeit on another level of wickedness than Barbossa); he had stolen one of His Majesty's best ships and got it destroyed then – and the punishment for that was hanging, there was nothing he – James – could do about _that_.

Only now it occurred to her that Jack couldn't have commandeered the Interceptor without Will's assistance and that James had never lost as much as a word about _that_ bit before today, even though it had technically been a crime as well. Clearly he and her father had hushed Will's part all up between them, without Elizabeth ever even _noticing_! And so far, she had never yet thanked him for these acts of decency; instead she had praised him for lying to the Admiral – she could have known that didn't sit well with him, but as was her wont, she hadn't paid the least bit attention to his feelings on the matter. And if she was really very honest with herself, and recalled their argument in detail, she would even have to concede that her next contribution – telling him that she wouldn't have thought it possible that he should save Will from the gallows, although she had meant it very differently from the way he had interpreted – had been _seriously_ out of line. Oh dear! There he was, good as gold, never – not _once!_ – had he reproached her for dealing with him so underhandedly, not once had he done as much as cast the man she abandoned him for an odd glance, let alone arraigned him, never had he given her any cause to doubt his integrity, and what did _she_ do in turn?

'How you saved Will's neck! I wouldn't have believed you had it in you!'

 _Now_ she understood how those words must have been ringing in his ears, and oh boy, she _was_ sorry! She buried her burning face in her cushion, dumbstruck by her own carelessness and sense of ignominy. For two hours or more, she tormented herself in this fashion, until finally getting up and mending the one bridge she could at least repair at one o'clock in the morning by sneaking over to her father's room to wake him up and beg at least his forgiveness.

At the same time down in the fort, those officers who could hold their liquor better than their fellows were still sitting in the officers' mess celebrating their new ships.

The last men standing were the Admiral, Captain Stansfield and Lieutenant Gillette. Commodore Norrington had not been mistaken in presuming that the latter would seize any chance to vent his dissatisfaction with the turn of events and poke holes into his superior's fragile narrative.

"Oh, do shut up, Gillette," the Admiral exclaimed. "What kind of dunderhead do you take me for, eh?"

Gillette blushed. "Beg your pardon, Admiral, I never meant –"

"I am stationed in Nassau, my dear chap, not in a cave. It's all over town that the pert little Miss Swann abandoned the good Commodore for that mysterious 'civilian' as Jimmy Norrington deigns to call him, and trust me to know the true circumstances of Jack Sparrow's flight."

Stansfield grinned, but his cousin didn't get it. "But sir, then how come –"

"Your Commodore is the best sailor this side of London, Lieutenant. He is the most able commander – no offence, Richard –"

"None taken," chuckled the Captain.

"He is the most capable commander I have, and they don't call him the scourge of piracy for nothing."

"And yet he lied to you!"

"But did he? I paid close attention to his report, and while I must say he has a very – _idiosyncratic_ – way of handling the facts of this matter, I didn't catch him telling a single downright lie. No, Lieutenant, this man isn't only an excellent officer, he is also a perfect gentleman and I am not going to think any less of him for that."

"He's an idiot, that's what he is," Gillette muttered sullenly.

"Let it go, Henry," Captain Stansfield reprimanded him quietly.

The Admiral however laughed. "I can see why you never got promoted, Lieutenant Gillette, that's for sure."

"I've never got promoted because Norrington won't have it! He's –"

" _Commodore_ Norrington, man! So, go ahead, I'm all ears. What feat have you accomplished that your superior officer so maliciously overlooked only to spite your career, eh?"

Gillette opened his mouth – and shut it again.

"That's what I thought." Thompson nodded. "And that's the whole point about Jimmy Norrington. He may or may not like you, who knows, but he wouldn't have stood in your way up if you had merited it. A lesser man than he might have wanted to see the man hanging who's going to marry his girl. To tell you the truth, I'd been fully prepared to do him the favour. He on the other hand went out of his way to make sure his rival was never once in the line of fire. But then he is nothing if not a gentleman."

Gillette was chastened for some minutes, during which the other two went over the weird business of the curse of the Black Pearl, then he grew restless again. _He_ had seen these skeletons, but did anyone deign to interview _him_ on the subject? Of course not! That was just his bad luck, as always.

Apropos of nothing, he suddenly muttered, "Admiral, has it occurred to you that the Commodore might be in league with these pirates?"

The Captain and the Admiral stared at him, and the latter asked, "Come again, Lieutenant?"

Gillette put on what he meant to be a superior smile. "Think about it! Sparrow escaping, losing the Dauntless, and some miraculous rescue from a godforsaken island – doesn't this smell a bit fishy?"

Stansfield rolled his eyes, and the Admiral asked in irritation, "Do I take it that you accuse Commodore Norrington of cooperating with Sparrow? And then he made him sink his own ship with eight hundred and sixty hands on it?!"

"Perhaps it hasn't really sunk, but he gave it to Sparrow! As a reward for something!"

The Admiral merely goggled at him, and Stansfield cried in exasperation, "Honestly, Henry, just think of what you're saying!"

"But it makes perfect sense! And afterwards, they thought of the excuse about the Dutch merchant vessels!" Gillette had warmed up, totally ignoring his cousin's mimicking at him to shut up, or the Admiral's rising anger.

"Lieutenant Gillette! I believe we already discussed that matter! Did you listen to me this morning? I have found only _two_ sources telling me about those pirates in the whole Caribbean, and believe me, I put lots of effort into my investigations. I daresay I am the first British officer to have brought a _little_ light in all this. How would the Commodore have known about them, eh?"

"Well, Sparrow's a pirate, too, so maybe _he_ has heard about them, and told Norrington –"

" _Commodore_ Norrington, Lieutenant!" boomed Thompson and bumped his fist on the table. Calmer, but with dripping sarcasm, he went on, "And then, you presume, just as an alibi, the Commodore let himself be hit over the head with a plank that could just as well have killed him?"

"Maybe he's just putting on his injuries."

"Henry, do shut up."

Admiral Thompson shook his head. "So what about Groves and those two sergeants?"

"They're in cahoots together, of course!"

"Henry!"

"Do you have any idea how many pirates Commodore Norrington captured?! Accusing him of playing one of theirs' game – _preposterous!_ "

"I assure you," Captain Stansfield tried to calm the waves and shot his cousin a filthy glance, " _nobody_ wants to accuse the good Commodore of _any_ complicity; Lieutenant Gillette has simply had too much to drink –"

"I'm sober enough," Gillette retorted stubbornly, "and what is more, I'm still not convinced that it's not Sparrow after all leading this bunch in disguise, that sailor you talked to might have erred about the exact time –"

Captain Stansfield gestured quite rudely at him, but the Admiral only laughed. "Sparrow! Didn't you meet that man yourself, Gillette?! He's no killer, and I must know, after all he sacked Nassau without firing a single shot five years ago! Sparrow is a crook, somebody who'd try to sell you a blade that he'd stolen from you the day before. And he's vain, he'd never use another name than his own."

"Sir, with all due respect – you really don't find it odd that it should be Sparrow of all people picking the Commodore up after the loss of the Dauntless, after they had tried to find him for nine weeks without any success?!" Gillette had lowered his voice a little, but he was determined to make the Admiral see his point. He was exasperated with everyone's praise for Norrington, and he couldn't see why he received no assistance whatsoever from his cousin.

"What's so odd about that? Sparrow is a sly dog, if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. After he's been to Nassau I sent half of the fleet after him to find me this man, and they all came back empty-handed. The only thing this proves is that Jimmy Norrington had a good nose and got pretty close before the Dauntless was destroyed."

Gillette was about to answer but his cousin cut him short. "Henry, I _really_ think you should go to bed. It's been a long day. Go _now_ , before you say more things that you will regret in the morning!"

He had got up and dragged the struggling Gillette away, mumbling, "Excuse me for five minutes, sir!"

When he returned, he smiled sardonically. "Excuse me once again, Admiral. I don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe he's a little frustrated; I believe he hoped to receive a promotion."

Admiral Thompson snorted, "A promotion! May I ask for _what_? And by slandering Commodore Norrington of all people?! That man is as good as gold and as solid as iron! _Why_ should _he_ fraternise with a pirate?! He's rich, he's a made man. How many Commodores being only thirty-one have you come across? _I_ was a Captain at thirty-one! But boy, he deserved it. You cannot imagine what kind of place this was ten years ago. Norrington raised it from a stinking dump to what it is now almost by himself. His predecessor was a drunk, unable to see straight most of the time, and this governor Swann is a dimwit typical for his entire profession. Puffing himself up as if he was still holding court in his old-English estate! I'm afraid he hasn't even got a clue that this is the new world here. Norrington was almost a boy still when he already had to shoulder the whole responsibility by himself, I don't know how he did it."

"I know, sir."

"What is more – he's as uptight as a nun's fanny. You couldn't corrupt that man if you offered him all the gold of the Spanish crown. Takes a weight of my mind to know you all down here under his regiment. You wouldn't believe the amount of venality I have to deal with elsewhere. Even in Nassau, right under my very own nose! Eight weeks ago I had to court martial Captain Goring, can you credit it?!"

"Indeed, I heard of it. He insinuated to some merchants that he could – _protect_ – them for a certain price, didn't he? Wasn't he a particular favourite of old Governor Foster?"

The Admiral slapped his hand on the table. "Thick as thieves, those two. That man actually had the nerve to try and intimidate me – _me!_ – to withdraw my case against Goring, but I gave him a piece of my mind, and no mistake!

"That's Governor Foster for you." Stansfield grinned roguishly, speaking of the Governor of Nassau. He despised Governor Foster just as much as Admiral Thompson did – yes, he knew the Admiral of old, and knew how to steer the conversation into more shallow waters.


	13. The Blame

**The Blame**

* * *

 _No one thinks of how much blood it costs._

 _DANTE_

* * *

The morning was as warm as any other in this part of the world, and peaceful. Port Royal had settled to be a rather sleepy town in the last years; the presence of a whole fort of soldiers kept scoundrels away and let the citizens attend to their daily business unconcernedly. This serene calm however was disturbed at eight o'clock, when Sergeant Seamus O'Brian gave a shrill scream and by this raised his fellow officers' attention – "Mary mother of Jesus, the Lord bless us all!"

At three past eight, Lieutenant Robert Groves entered Lieutenant Gillette's room and stopped dead in his tracks with what he saw, crossing himself and ordering some of his men to inform the Admiral, Captain Stansfield and the Commodore.

Lieutenant Gillette was dead, dangling from a rope in his room. He wore his uniform, his wig even, that had slipped sideways a bit, without doubt due to the throes of death. Lieutenant Groves swallowed hard with the sight and shook his head. He hadn't liked Gillette one bit, but _this_ was appalling all the same.

Generally, the shock was much greater than the grief; the Lieutenant hadn't been very popular. Only few understood why on earth he should have taken his life, among those Admiral Thompson, far more annoyed than he was affected. "That ruddy fool!"

Commodore Norrington received the news in wide-eyed disbelief and with far more genuine dismay. Had Gillette really been so desperate for a promotion? He found it excessively tragic that a man's ambition should overcome his common sense in such a fashion, and he felt a pang of guilt himself. He had always been firm in his unwillingness to assist Gillette to make his way up; he had found him a bully and rather useless, scolding himself now for his, perhaps premature and biased, judgement. Hang oneself – for the lack of a Captain's hat?! That wasn't worth it! James Norrington was a grieved man, but never in his life had he contemplated any such way out for himself, God beware.

The only person in town whose reaction wasn't one of shock but of gloom was Captain Stansfield. He looked at the corpse, which had been untied by now and was lying on the ground, in something like sadness and muttered quietly, "Oh, Henry… I had hoped it would take a better end with you –"

Commodore Norrington, having left his sickbed once again, arrived paler than anyway, stared at the dead man like everybody else before him, and out of habit ordered for the body to be taken away and the funeral prepared. If nothing else had been specified, sailors were usually given a funeral at sea, which would also spare an awkward discussion with Reverend Martin, who was sure to object to bury him within the churchyard as suicides were denied to lie in consecrated grounds. God bless his soul all the same.

Finally the Admiral, Commodore Norrington, Captain Stansfield and Lieutenant Groves were alone in the dead man's small room, exchanging awkward looks before Thompson burst with anger to be forced to deal with a situation like this before he had even had his breakfast.

"This damned fool! I could tell he was an idiot last night, but I'd never dreamt he'd be _such_ an ass!"

Captain muttered quietly, "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have left him alone yesterday…"

"Nonsense!" the Admiral cried, "You couldn't have foreseen _that_ , surely! Granted, he made a gigantic twit of himself, but if he was ready to do himself in, why couldn't he at least wait for a battle and muster some courage for a good cause?!"

The Commodore had listened to this short exchange and inquired what it referred to. Stansfield waved his hands dismissively. "Nothing, nothing. He had a glass too much yesterday, that's all –"

Admiral Thompson was less tactful and, sneering with the recollection of the last evening, filled the other two men in on the late Lieutenant's accusations.

"Consider your breed, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?" James murmured and smirked sadly, while Groves seemed to be seriously tempted to speak very ill of the dead.

Captain Stansfield patted both their shoulders. "Forget about it. Please. Old Henry was always one to talk through his arse, but that shouldn't be what's remembered of him."

While the senior officers thus conferred what was to be done next, the Governor's daughter, after a rather sleepless night, slipped out of the house and hurried down to the town and up the hill on which the van Dyke's mansion was situated. She was almost an hour earlier than usually when visiting the Commodore in the mornings, but she was desperate to excuse herself and reconcile. However, once she was admitted to the house she was welcomed by Marleen van Dyke herself, who looked quite sombre and quietly informed her what had happened in the fortress that night.

Elizabeth clasped her mouth and whispered, "Good Lord! Gillette?!"

She hadn't liked the Lieutenant, she had avoided talking to him if she could help it, but this did not mean that she had wished him ill. Indeed, she wouldn't have begrudged him to sail with the new ship he had admired so at least once, he surely would have enjoyed it; perhaps it would have kept him from doing something so desperate…

"Poor James!" she murmured next, and with a sense of premonition turned on Marleen. "Take me to him, please."

"The Commodore's not here, Lizzy, he was called down to the fort –"

"And you let him go?!"

"Of course we let him go, what else should we have done?!"

"You let him go! Oh, that's so typical of you!"

Marleen frowned at her as if she had gone mad. "I'm sorry – try as I might, I really don't get what you're saying –"

"Didn't you see how pale he was yesterday?! This is going to wear him out completely; he'll never get better like that! You're supposed to look after him, damn it!"

"He's a grown-up man, Lizzy, trust him to know what he's doing; surely it is not my place to meddle with his decisions."

All she received for that reasonable statement was a loud scoff and with swishing robes, Elizabeth marched out of the house as if she had been mortally offended. Marleen stared after her old friend in utter incomprehension, wondering what on earth was wrong with the girl, but her bafflement didn't last long. Too bewildered she was still about Lieutenant Gillette's desperate deed, too sad in a way, but most of all, too much intrigued.

This was all very strange, wasn't it? Like Miss Swann, she wondered why he had done it just now. If he had hoped for a promotion – the Admiral was to stay another day, perhaps he would still have made his mind up? She couldn't know about their row the previous night, and even when she heard about it after all, she saw no sufficient foundation in it to end one's life.

Lieutenant Groves had walked the Commodore back in the evening and after this one had retired to his room with throbbing headaches, she sat together with the Lieutenant in the parlour who clued her in about Gillette's accusations the previous night.

"Now that's vile, isn't it?"

Groves nodded fiercely. "It is! I wouldn't have imagined how far that man would have gone only to advance himself!"

"I wonder what made him come up with such a strange story though."

"Well, that's obvious, isn't it? He wanted to slander the Commodore to become head of the fort after all." Groves took it very personal to see the Commodore so ill-used. He was as ready to defend this one's honour as he had been to swim two naval miles with him on his back.

"Yes, clearly, but – it's such an outlandish scenario."

"I hadn't meant him to possess a very vivid imagination either, but clearly I've been wrong."

"Were you? I shouldn't speak ill of a dead man, I know, but – he always struck me as rather dull. To make up such an unbelievable tale seems very unlike him."

"I don't think I get what you mean, Miss?"

"I mean that Mr. Gillette might have come further if he had stuck to the _facts_ of the matter instead of inventing horror stories."

"From what Captain Stansfield told me when we were among ourselves today, the Admiral already knew most of what had in fact happened – Mr. Turner's and Miss Swann's roles in the whole debacle, I mean. There was nothing much Gillette could have told him that he wasn't aware of before."

Marleen grinned. "So seeing that the truth got him nowhere, he resorted to fiction... But did it have to be quite so lurid? Think about it – an honourable officer like the Commodore conspiring with pirates, Mr. Sparrow disguising himself as that Dutch pirates' leader – it's preposterous. Didn't he realise he made a fool of himself?"

"According to Captain Stansfield, he had drunk a few glasses too much."

"But drunkards become _more_ , not less honest."

"I still don't understand what you're trying to hint at, I'm afraid."

She shrugged, "I'm not hinting at anything, I guess. I'm simply astonished. But let us speak no more of these unpleasant things. When will Admiral Thompson leave us, then?"

"He will attend the funeral ceremonies tomorrow morning and leave at noon as planned."

"And when are _you_ going to put to sea again?"

"Probably as soon as the Commodore's condition allows it, Miss."

"But I thought you'd stay! As the head of the fort!"

"But with Gillette – gone – he will need another Lieutenant at his side. He's determined to capture these villains who destroyed the Dauntless."

For a second, Miss van Dyke's bright eyes darkened, but in the next she smiled again, "I see. I do hope that you return very well then!"

Groves sighed inwardly; the fair Miss was worried for the Commodore… Understandable, of course, but it stirred him nevertheless.

The funeral took place with the Admiral saying some solemn words, Lieutenant Gillette's remains were given to the sea, the Falcon returned to the harbour around noon, and after a last lunch, it was time to say farewell. Captain Stansfield wasn't quite as high-spirited as usual, but not too downcast either – not even _he_ had liked his cousin very much. The Admiral was snappish and short-tempered as ever, briskly advising the Commodore to take better care of his new ships than he had of his old ones – Miss Swann wanted to jump at him for this remark – but James mustered a lopsided smile and answered that he would, and in fifteen minutes, it was all over.

Elizabeth finally saw her chance to remedy the other day's misunderstandings and insisted to walk him back to the van Dykes. Lieutenant Groves was about to tell her off, but his master was quicker.

"Thank you, Miss Swann. How thoughtful."

Groves opened his mouth to comment, but catching the Commodore's warning glance he refrained and merely cast some dagger looks at the girl.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Elizabeth meant to seize her chance, but once again he was faster.

"I am glad to catch you on your own for a minute, Miss Swann. I must apologise for the way I spoke to you last time we met," he said quietly. "I was simply exhausted. Please forgive me."

"No! I mean yes, of course, but I – _I_ wish to beg _your_ forgiveness, sir. I truly meant no offence, but I'm aware I gave it all the same. I fear didn't express myself very well."

"That's alright. I do understand. All the same I had no business to snap at you the way I did."

"Oh but you had! I can see it now. And I _am_ sorry. I want you to know that!"

"I do."

"Can I start once again?"

"You really don't have to."

"But I _wish_ to. I am just so very sorry that the Admiral punished you of all people, when you were the only one not to blame!"

He shook his head. "And that's where you are wrong, Miss Swann. In less than four months nine hundred and twenty-eight men died under my command. It was my duty to care for these men and I failed miserably."

She stared at him with wide eyes. "But that was _my_ mistake! _I_ am to blame for you fighting Captain Barbossa and indirectly it is also my fault you had to go chasing after Jack –"

"Miss Swann, listen – none, really _none_ of this was _your_ fault!" he said very insistently and looked her square in the eye. "You must really get that out of you head, do you hear me?"

"But –"

"No but! You are a civilian, for a start. It's not up to you to feel responsible for military matters. That is _my_ job. And it was up to me, this way or that, to pursue Barbossa and his men. They were pirates and it is my purpose to put an end to their crimes, it's as simple as that. And why you would think you were in any way to blame for the loss of the Dauntless is truly beyond me."

"But it was _I_ who wanted you to spare Jack!"

"Yes, but wishing for something is no sin, and in this case quite the opposite! You wanted to spare a man's life, even more justifiably as he had saved _your_ life. As you know I quite sympathise with the idea; it felt wrong to hang the man who had saved you from drowning, but it wasn't in my power to spare him."

"But nothing would have happened if I hadn't pretended to faint that day –"

"Wouldn't it? I'm not so sure about that. The Black Pearl was lying in wait to save their captain. They might have attacked the harbour in order to do so, so it is just as possible that you prevented quite a lot of casualties by feigning to faint."

The puny pun actually made her snigger. He grinned too, before turning very solemn again. "But what is more – it was _my_ decision not to set after the Pearl at once. I did have my reasons, yes, but I miscalculated tragically. Blame me, if you have to, and stop taking it all on yourself!"

"I could never blame _you_ , James!"

He smiled softly. "That is very kind of you and very injudicious."

She averted her face. "I do know what I owe you, you know?"

"You owe me nothing, Miss Swann."

"To the contrary. I owe you _everything_!"

"No, seriously –"

"Let us not get into the next argument over this." She raised her gaze and shot him her most heartfelt smile. "I do believe you are the best man I have ever met, or could possibly ever meet with, and while I'm aware that your modesty would never allow you to accept that, you will have to allow _me_ to think so all the same because there's nothing you can do about it."

Now it was he who had to look away. She felt a pang of guilt to cause him such embarrassment, and quickly added, "Incidentally, I didn't ask you yet – how do you like your new ship?"

Clearly relieved, he answered, "The Challenger is an undeniable excellent ship."

"Yet she is not the Dauntless, eh?"

He was both astonished and gratified to hear her voice his own thoughts. "Exactly!"

"The Dauntless was a _splendid_ ship."

"All the same she is lost forever, so I will make do with the Challenger, whether I like it or not."

"Do you hate the gold trimmings as much as I do?"

He laughed out loud. "I do! Ludicrous, aren't they?"

And in that agreeable vein, they finally arrived at the gates of the van Dykes' mansion. He asked whether she'd come in to say hello to her old friend Marleen, and was surprised to find her features darkening.

"I'm afraid you will have to excuse me," she murmured. "I have... My father awaits me. But I'll come and visit you tomorrow."

"You won't find me here by tomorrow. I'll return to the fort this evening."

"But –"

He smiled and winked at her. "Lying in one's featherbed will bring no fame –"

"And he who uses up his life without achieving fame leaves no more vestige of himself on earth than smoke in the air or foam upon the water," she completed with a little snigger. She was torn between relief and anxiety; on the one hand she was sure he needed some more rest, on the other she was glad to see him removed out of Marleen's ambit. "Take good care of yourself, James, will you?"

"You needn't worry, I'm much better already. How could I not be, after so much good care?"

He meant her own nursing, but she could only think of Marleen, and was all the more glad that he'd finally leave that cursed house!

"So I'll come and see you in the fort then."

He looked mystified, but his gallantry ran in the blood and let him bow. "I shall look forward to that, Miss Swann."

"Me too. See you tomorrow!"

She was in excellent spirits when she returned home. For once not even her worries for the Commodore's health marred her cheerfulness; she actually whistled a merry ditty under her breath and bewildered her beleaguered father.

"One wouldn't notice you had just returned from a funeral, my dear."

"What? Oh!" She blushed. "I am sorry, Papa. I just... I told you I quarrelled with James –"

" _James?_ "

"– and we've just made up, I'm just so glad! He really is the most decent man in the world."

"Tell me about it!"

She misunderstood him completely and did tell him about it, at great length, culminating, "I'm forever indebted to him! I shall name my first son James – do you think he would approve of that?"

"Your _husband_ surely wouldn't!"

"Nonsense! After all, it's _his_ neck that's been saved!"

"How lucky you needn't worry about the name of your first son for quite some time, my darling. So far, you're not even _married_."

She stopped short. There was no arguing about that point; even if Will was to find a gold treasure on some godforsaken island, it would take almost two years until he was of age at least.

"Yes, yes. I don't need reminding, you know? And I really don't know why you try to rain on my parade. I am just so _very_ relieved that James isn't angry with me anymore –"

"Talking of your future husband's disapproval, dear – do you think it entirely proper to go on calling the Commodore by his Christian name?"

"I don't say it to his face," she murmured with a soft blush, remembering all the occasions that gave the statement a lie.

Her father shook his head. His dearest girl lacked some proper manners; perhaps this was because she hadn't had a mother to look up to. His beloved Mary had been just as high-spirited and lively as her daughter, but her manners had been impeccable all the same; she hadn't been inconsiderate or rash at all. Quick, yes, just like Elizabeth was, but never so thoughtless.

He indeed knew full well that the Commodore had been more than just a gentleman. He _was_ impressed. This fine man could have been his son-in-law! He still sighed whenever thinking of it. He had accustomed to Will Turner, he was a kind and amiable boy, yes. But the Commodore had been a _man_ , excellent in every aspect! Well, he still hadn't given up his last hope that Elizabeth might become attached to Captain Stansfield. He wasn't quite as genteel as Commodore Norrington, admittedly, but Governor Swann found that beggars could not be choosers, and right now he'd embosom any sensible grown-up man of some means.

He was worried; Elizabeth needed a man she could respect, somebody who wasn't ruled by her own follies. And this was just the problem with the Turner boy – he was as young as her, he submitted himself to any of her whims, he had no influence over her whatsoever.

This entire engagement had made her even more unbalanced; she was moody and quick-tempered, and constantly quarrelled with her fiancé. She was unsatisfied with _this_ , and impatient with _that_ – the poor boy couldn't do anything without her finding _some_ fault to criticise him for. As much as this played into her father's hands, he felt sorry for the young man nevertheless.

* * *

Consider your breed... Dante

Lying in a featherbed... Dante


	14. The Plot Thickens

**The Plot Thickens**

* * *

 _But this privilege, is allayed by another; and that is, by the privilege of Absurdity; to which no living creature is subject, but man only._

 _THOMAS HOBBES_

* * *

"Sergeant Murtogg, Sergeant Mullroy – I have some questions that I hope you can answer."

The two soldiers felt exceedingly uneasy about the situation on the whole. The Commodore always scared them rigid, even though as hard as they racked their brains, they couldn't think of anything they had done wrong lately. So they just tried to appear as servile as they could, in fact they looked like two donkeys in lightning.

James was aware of his intimidating effect on his men – it had taken lots of time and effort to achieve that facade, when he had been a lieutenant still but faced the responsibilities of a commander and nobody had taken him seriously. Now here he was, unable to just put it on or off as he pleased, and while trying his best to appear friendly and inviting, all he achieved was frightening the men even more. It was hopeless.

He exchanged a few helpless looks with Lieutenant Groves until this one addressed them, "Sirs, what we would like to know is – during the time on board of the Black Pearl – have you talked to Captain Sparrow or any other of his men?"

"No, sir!" both replied with arrow speed.

"Let us begin afresh," the Commodore sighed. "Firstly, let me assure you that you are _not_ in any trouble. We merely wish to ask you some questions and please be assured that whatever you say will _not_ be the foundation for any punishment or reprimand whatsoever. Have you understood that?"

It was always right to nod and say 'Aye, sir' when a superior officer was speaking like that, but as a matter of fact, he had spoken too quickly and too markedly, and if he had said the exact opposite, they would still have retorted, 'Aye, sir!'

"Very well. So in the entire ten days aboard the Black Pearl, you have _not_ talked to any member of the crew...?"

"No, sir!"

They weren't getting anywhere like that, and it took all powers of persuasion which Commodore Norrington and Lieutenant Groves could muster until the sergeants finally confessed to have spoken 'a word or two' to the crew. These few words turned out to be enough to fill a couple of books, and once they had begun talking, it was hard to make them stop again.

"Mr. Murtogg," the Commodore sighed and rolled his eyes, "mermaids aren't exactly what I was looking for. But what I wish to hear is this – has Mr. Gibbs told you any story about a man styling himself as 'Commodore Nero'? Or any pirate unknown to him trying to pick up a crew?"

"Commodore Nero? Is he an English officer?"

"He's no officer at any rate, but apparently he is English. So did Mr. Gibbs mention him?"

"Let me think…"

They could _see_ Sergeant Mullroy thinking; it was painful to behold. The Commodore counted inwardly to ten to stay calm, an encouraging smile frozen on his lips. Patience, he reminded himself, be patient. The Lieutenant was less tolerant and snapped, "Well, has he?"

"No," Mullroy drawled, with his eyes screwed up and clearly still thinking. "He did mention an English officer though."

"That's not the sort of tale we were looking for," James moaned, but the Lieutenant looked intrigued and made an encouraging gesture.

"Well, a guy who was _thought_ to be an English officer, more like," Mullroy mused loudly, "who would go looking for a crew."

"Yeah," his colleague recalled, "tried it in Tortuga, but no one quite trusted him –"

James was at a total loss what these two morons could possibly be talking about, but Groves asked, "Pick up a crew? For what?"

"Well, what sort of people hang about in Tortuga, sir – for a pirate ship of course!"

"And why do you say he was an officer?"

"Please, Commodore, it's not _me_ saying that! _I_ know that no English officer would go to Tortuga and – it was Mr. Gibbs who said it."

James listened, pressing his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, and meditated on the great man's discourse on the privilege of absurdity.

"Wore no uniform either," Murtogg mumbled, "We asked him about that."

"So what made Mr. Gibbs think him to be an officer?"

"Because of the way he spoke and moved, said he. Did you know, Mr. Gibbs was in the Navy once, too?"

"Yes," the Commodore said wryly, "That would make another former English officer turning pirate then, I guess!"

"But Mr. Gibbs was no officer, was he? He doesn't _sound_ like an officer."

"And how _does_ an officer sound?"

"Like you, sir. You know, well-spoken, and pronounced. Not like us. Somebody who's been in a proper school," Murtogg said genially.

Groves and the Commodore exchanged a quick glance, and to the latter's surprise, the former cried, " _That's_ quite the kind of story we were looking for, Mr. Murtogg. Go on!"

"Not much else to say about it, is there?" He looked at his comrade, who shook his head, murmuring, "Just that. I would have forgotten already. Didn't believe it anyway – an English officer pick-"

"Did Mr. Gibbs say how the man looked?" Groves cut him short.

"How he looked? I'm sure I don't know!"

"Young he was," his colleague cut in.

"Not that young."

"Younger than Mr. Gibbs at any rate."

"My grandfather is younger than Mr. Gibbs."

"Rubbish, I know your grandfather!"

The first cause of absurd conclusions must be ascribed to the want of method; it is not easy to fall into absurdity, unless it be by the length of the account, wherein he may perhaps forget what went before... James rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Gentlemen, please!" Both men gave a start and goggled at him, and having regained their attention, Groves inquired, "Do you know when this happened?"

"Must have happened before Mr. Gibbs signed on the Black Pearl, sure –"

" _Long_ before," Mullroy nodded, "Didn't he say it was before the great fire?"

"Right! _Directly_ before the great fire, that's what he said!"

"And that, had he known what disaster was to come, he'd rather have signed on with the weird guy than stay!"

James tried to remember when a great inferno had destroyed half of Tortuga; this must have happened perhaps twenty months ago, but still, he couldn't see why Groves seemed to take so much interest in this story. He said lightly, "Well, perhaps it was a privateer? These are quite often gentlemen as well, speaking proper English."

"No, sir. They don't _move_ like an officer." To the Commodore's great astonishment, it was neither Mr. Murtogg nor Mr. Mullroy, but Lieutenant Groves who said it. He looked very thoughtful, and catching his superior's curious glance, he went on, "There's a considerable difference in the bearing and movements. You can _see_ whether a man is a Navy officer or not."

"Yeah," Murtogg cried, nodding wildly, "they're like trained to walk very straight, very stiff, shoulders back and all that."

The Commodore suppressed a smirk. His soldiers told him he _walked_ stiffly, Elizabeth thought he _was_ stiff. It looked as if he'd just have to accept his inbred stiffness once and for all.

Groves asked some more questions, but the sergeants couldn't answer any of them, and were dismissed. After they were gone, the Commodore looked quizzical at him. "Since when do you fancy pennydreadfuls, Robert?"

Groves seemed to wake up from his musing. "Oh – because of something Miss van Dyke said to me the other day…"

He waited for further explanations, but Groves seemed deeply lost in thought, so they parted. The Commodore was disappointed; he had hoped that this investigation would turn out something more, but then, what had he expected to come from two rather dull soldiers and a notorious drunkard like Mr. Gibbs?

He took out the naval reports and conscientiously started listing all ships that had left some Caribbean harbour in the past twelve month and failed to reach their destination. He continued with ships from the Spanish Main, compared it with a list of great storms, and when he was through, he compared his lists with a map. Then he recalled a conversation he'd had with Elizabeth and went down to see the soldier in charge of the carrier pigeons to send out dispatches to a dozen other garrisons in certain select areas.

The Lieutenant meanwhile could scarcely contain his excitement. He was on to something, he felt it for sure, but wondered in the same moment if this was only a pathetic excuse to visit Miss van Dyke once again. Whatever was the true reason, he went over to the van Dykes, and the lovely Miss smiled brightly when he was announced. "Lieutenant Groves! How pleasant to see you! I had been afraid that we shouldn't meet again so soon, after the Commodore left us! How are you?"

He sat down with her, a bit awkward, and hesitantly related the gist of the sergeants' story. "After your remarks the other day it somehow caught my attention," he finished lamely, afraid what she would say, or whether she would laugh at him.

But she did nothing of that sort. Instead she asked casually, "Do you happen to know when it was exactly, this great fire in Tortuga?"

Yes, he had looked it up before coming and could proudly give her the date; it was two years ago next January.

"Does it happen often that a high-ranking officer leaves service?"

"All the time. When they retire."

"But younger men? Didn't you say he was young?"

He thought about it for a moment and shrugged then, "Not a lot of the younger ones, no… Couldn't think of one right now. Sometimes, when badly injured, they drop out and go back home to England. But in such a case, they can't _sail_ any longer for one reason or other, and are taken over by another ship then. Lieutenant Paige, for example – you might remember him? He was blinded in battle and taken back to his family to care for him."

"Can they be expelled?"

"Yes, well, they _can_ , but that's very rare. To be punished for a minor mistake, an officer will be degraded; if the nature of the crime is severe, he will be imprisoned or executed straightaway."

"So what you basically say is that it's pretty unlikely for an English officer of rank to just drop out and find himself a new career, right?"

"Quite unlikely, yes."

"So – as long as they _are_ in service – do they have some, well, leisure time? I mean, enough time to sail to Tortuga for example, pick up a crew and pilfer a bit until returning home?"

He couldn't suppress to laugh at the mere idea, and she returned it ingeniously, "Well, could they?"

"No, Miss, I honestly can't imagine that! Of course, as long as a ship is at sea, nobody at home can say for sure where they are exactly, or what they're doing, but sooner or later, they have to make berth to take on provisions and the like, and then come home again. Also they have to report about their absence. Such an officer as you describe– he might try to lie to his superior, but he's still got a whole crew of officers and sailors who can give him away. Picture the situation – nobody can just leave a ship for some days like that, so he would have to take them with him, and they would know what he's doing. No, no, it's impossible, I assure you!"

"Still there _is_ a report of such a man," she lifted her forefinger and gesticulated with it. "And if we acknowledge it for a minute to be a true report, we must think of a possibility how he manages to come to Tortuga and look for a crew of pirates, and what he could do with them then."

"Maybe it was a kind of trick. You know, if he'd really been an officer, he could clap any pirate in iron who'd try to sign on such a mission."

"In a tavern in Tortuga, Lieutenant? He might just as well shoot himself right away, saves time. No... Remind me, what did Lieutenant Gillette tell the Admiral exactly? That the Commodore was in cahoots with pirates, right? With Captain Sparrow, to be precise, and that said Captain Sparrow could be this mysterious pirate in disguise?"

He gasped in genuine shock, "Miss van Dyke, you don't seriously – I _assure_ you –"

"No, no! Heaven forbid!" She shook her head vigorously. "Don't get me wrong. I'm really just trying to recollect what Lieutenant Gillette said then. For whatever it was – in this night, the poor Lieutenant was so distressed that he ended up killing himself, so we must assume that his spirits were much shaken, don't you think?"

"So...?"

"Well, I don't actually know. I just find it exceedingly odd – Gillette accusing the Commodore to be in league with pirates, and from a very different quarter, we get a report of some nameless officer doing exactly that what Gillette tried to hang on the Commodore. I know he merely tried to discredit the Commodore, but as you may recall, I found it very curious that he should have come up with such a wild story. What if there was a grain of truth in it? What if Lieutenant Gillette told this story that is so hard to credit, because he knew it to have happened for real?"

Groves opened his mouth for another fiery defence, but she waved at him to spare his breath. "No, no, before you mistake me, I do _not_ mean Commodore Norrington. Whatever I say, don't think I was trying to mouth off the Commodore. I _know_ he is a very good man."

Groves was pained to hear this just praise – yes, the pretty Miss van Dyke admired the Commodore, and how could she not! They were _made_ for each other! He was so distraught by this melancholic reflection that he could hardly follow her conclusions, so he simply nodded and sighed.

She hesitated for a moment, her finger tipping against her lips. "Forgive me for uttering such a thought now, Lieutenant Groves, but – could it be Lieutenant Gillette himself had done something like that? Could _he_ have been visiting this tavern in Tortuga?"

He goggled at her, but gave it a good thought then. "No," he finally said. "For once, I should know if he had been around the area of Tortuga with the Interceptor. We haven't been there in ages, it's Spanish territory and even if it's a bloody pirate hotspot, they don't like us snooping around there. But more importantly – Mr. Gibbs, who told the story in the first place, was a sailor on the Dauntless himself some years ago. Mr. Gibbs _knows_ Lieutenant Gillette and would certainly have recognised him, with or without uniform. And if he _had_ recognised him, he would have told the Sergeants about it, don't you think?"

"True," she said slowly, "Well, I guess I'm seeing ghosts here and that's just all!"

"What a pity that we can no longer ask Lieutenant Gillette about it. I bet the Commodore would have loved to hear what he had got to say."

"He'd simply have denied knowing anything at all. He would have claimed that it had been only a wretched idea coming to him out of thin air."

"He'd surely have. But he wasn't very apt, and even if my Commodore is too good himself to suspect others of crimes that he thinks to be impossible – I guess I would have seen whether he had lied or not. I do pride myself to have some knowledge of human nature!"

"Now do you?" she smiled gently, and he blushed. That had been a very complacent thing to say!

* * *

The Commodore's cogitations on absurdity are inspired by Hobbes' _Leviathan_


	15. Farewell

**Farewell**

* * *

 _But fate ordains that dearest friends must part._

 _EDWARD YOUNG_

* * *

Elizabeth gaped in utter shock. "What do you mean? You 'set sail' – are you leaving?! _Already?!_ "

He nodded. Yes, in fact, this had been the reason for his visit; he had to inform the Governor about the departure of the Challenger. Secretly – so secretly that it would have surprised even himself – he had also welcomed the pretext to say goodbye to Elizabeth in person. It was always possible that he should never see her again.

She was appalled. "But – you've not entirely recovered, and – you _can't_!"

"Oh no, I'm fine, believe me. I've already talked to your father, everything is ready, I just wanted to say goodbye and farewell!"

"Going after these – these ruddy murderers!" Her voice was getting shrill with horror. "How can you do that?!"

"It is my profession to capture pirates, Miss Swann. I have pored over old reports and believe to have a fairly good idea where they are usually searching for their prey. We will find them."

"That's exactly what I am afraid of!"

"I assure you, these men aren't the kind of pirates you need to feel compassion for."

"Compassion! Oh no, quite the contrary! They are _dangerous_ , they've sunk the Dauntless and – James, you mustn't do that, _please_!"

"They were lucky with the Dauntless, they won't be so lucky again."

" _You_ were lucky to be alive still! Just imagine if they –" Her eyes were wide and her voice faltering. She wanted to shout that he must not go under any circumstances, that he must stay for _her_ sake, but just too well she remembered the last time when she had begged him to neglect his duties for her sake, and she swallowed hard.

He smiled gently. "Miss Swann, if my calculations are correct, this 'Commodore Nero' has attacked and destroyed more than twenty ships in the past two years. Not only did he kill my crew – men I've known for half my life in some cases, some of them closer to my heart than my own family. He's murdered _thousands_ of others. Would you really want him to go on like that?"

"No, of course not. But please, I _beg_ you, think of the dangers!

"The Romans never allowed a trouble spot to remain simply to avoid going to war over it, because they knew that wars don't just go away, they are only postponed to someone else's advantage."

"But James, this isn't a war – this isn't two sets of honourable soldiers fighting each other! From the little bit I heard the Admiral say, _these_ pirates are worse than butchers!

"I trust the Challenger to be as worthy as the Dauntless, and we shall vanquish them like they deserve, or perish trying."

Her eyes widened in horror. Oh dear, he hadn't meant to frighten her. She had nursed him in his darkest hours and must find him very ungrateful to risk his life. But in the end, it _was_ his job, even if it hadn't been for his own fervent desire to avenge his crew, he still would have been forced to pursue them.

She made a last attempt. "But if these pirates are really as dangerous as you say, you can't leave the town alone then! What if they come here to pilfer Port Royal?"

"Don't worry, Lieutenant Groves and the Halcyon will stay. Besides, as far as we know, they've never before attacked a settlement."

If he had meant it would alleviate her fears to hear this, he couldn't have been more wrong. Lieutenant Groves would not go with him?! The most loyal friend he had, the friend who had saved his life once before? Her eyes welt up with tears but she forced them away, mouthing, "Very well then…"

He made a bow, and saw her reach out her hand, so he took it and kissed her fingertips, inwardly shaking with agitation. She clasped his hand tightly and whispered, "You must swear to come back, Commodore – James – please, do _swear_ it!"

"Do not make me give a vow that isn't in my power to keep, Miss Swann," he replied gravely, still bowing, still holding her hand.

" _Please_ , James!"

Her tone was urgent; he felt overpowered with the situation and briskly straightened and stepped back. "Adieu, Miss Swann!"

"Don't say 'adieu' but 'au revoir'! And don't call me Miss Swann but Elizabeth!" she cried helplessly when he turned away, giving her a last smile.

"Goodbye then, Elizabeth."

He was gone in the next moment, leaving her utterly devastated. It must not be true! She closed her eyes, no longer bothering to check the tears that ran down her cheeks. It must _not_ be true! He _mustn't_ risk his life, somewhere out on the ocean, facing a most cruel danger –he wasn't accustomed to his new ship yet – how could he throw himself into battle in a situation like this?! The Dauntless had been said to be invincible, yet it had been sunk to the bottom of the sea!

Snapping out of her horror for long enough to grasp some rational notions, she gathered her skirts and ran over to her father's study.

"Come! Quickly!" she cried. "We've got to be in the harbour when they depart!"

"You think? Yes... It's just so very unexpected – my wig isn't groomed properly –"

"Never mind the wig! You'll put a hat on anyhow. Now make haste, Papa!"

Seeing her agitation, the Governor got a warm feeling in his stomach. She was anxious to see the Captain off – how excellent!

When they arrived in the harbour, most of the sailors had already boarded their respective ship. Both the Commodore and Captain Stansfield were in the two last boats to row over.

"We might never see him again," Elizabeth whispered despondently. Her father heard her all the same – and mistook her completely.

"Don't worry, my dear. He is a very good sailor," the Governor said with malice aforethought.

"The best," Elizabeth sighed under her breath, rooted to the spot. At last, she saw James mount the ship as well, the plank was taken in and the Challenger, sparkling in the sun even more due to her golden effects, slowly sailed away. Her commander stood at the helm, she clearly recognised his figure even in the distance with her sight blurred by tears, and without noticing it herself, she muttered a prayer aloud.

Her father gloried in what he mistook to be a valuable insight into his daughter's heart, and remarked, "The Captain is such an exceedingly pleasant man!"

"A bit too pleasant, don't you think?" she returned vaguely, her focus never leaving the Commodore at the helm. Her father inwardly rejoiced though and could scarcely await the return of that 'too pleasant man'.

It wasn't as if he wasn't concerned as well, though perhaps not quite as much as his daughter. Two _new_ ships, alone in capture of _three_ heavily armed pirate vessels, which after all had nothing to lose… He was worried, less for the ships than for their crews, for Captain Stansfield, but truth to tell, mostly for the good Commodore. Not only his personal regard for this man and his merits let Governor Swann feel so tense, but his awareness that the Commodore was the foundation of the whole town's rise to prosperity and peace. What should become of them all if he got himself killed? Whoever was to be his successor, he would have to prove his worth first until his mere reputation let pirates and scoundrels better avoid the island. And what _if_ the town was to be attacked? He dreaded to think of it! For the first time ever he congratulated himself to his present son-in-law to-be, who was after all a fabulous sword fighter. The boy would protect Elizabeth, no matter what was to come, which was some comfort at least. But what about the town? He tried to calm himself; the Commodore _would_ return, he had the Lord on his side, hadn't he? He had never lost a battle but one, and even then, he had survived, he had returned.

Will was kind of excited that the Challenger and the Falcon had gone to pursue these mysterious pirates and wished he had joined the mission. Unfortunately for him, he expressed this wish in presence of his lovely fiancée, before he had realised how dismayed _she_ was with that story.

"Are you _mad_?!" she cried furiously. "Have you any idea what you're saying there?! I'm half crazy with fear already, but _they_ , they've got to go because it's their duty! And you?! Be glad, be _grateful_ that you needn't throw your life away like them! These pirates leave no survivors!"

He winced back with so much vehemence, but she poked him with her forefinger against his chest, "Do you even think of _me_? _I_ have to stay here, _I_ can't sleep for all the horror! You want to be a hero? You cannot _choose_ to be a hero, Will!"

"I _want_ to be with you, Elizabeth, I –"

"Be _with_ me? So why do you want to leave me then?!"

"Oh Elizabeth, you must know that – I want to be able to marry you!"

"For marrying me, you've got to be alive for a start!"

He tried to step closer, embrace her perhaps, but she withdrew, angrily sparkling at him. He stretched out his hand, "Elizabeth – _please_! I love you! I'd do _anything_ for you, just tell me what you want, and I'll do it!"

She sneered scathingly. "How can you expect me to know what you ought to do if you don't know what to do yourself! Five minutes ago, you wanted to be a great man, setting out to hunt down evil, and now, you ask me what to do?!"

"But Elizabeth –"

"I need to be alone, Will. Please, leave!"

She saw him walk away, defeated, his whole pose showed his hurt and even more his face did. She didn't want to pain him, but neither found any word of consolation or reconciliation… What _did_ she want? She was absolutely sure that she wouldn't endure when he joined the Navy – James' absence made her feel like suffocating, how would she feel if Will left her? And as for their constant quarrelling about what he could do instead to speed up their marriage… She couldn't say. It would come with time, wouldn't it?

For a start, it would do him quite good to grow up a bit. He was sweet and good-tempered, but sometimes, he stole her very last nerve – why couldn't he be a little more decisive? She believed at once that he would do just anything for her, but… Her future husband should be a bit more independent than that, right? He couldn't just bend to each and any of her moods – she was sorely aware that she was sometimes very moody; it didn't take her father's less than subtle hints for her to know that! How could she marry somebody who was as immature as she was herself? Perhaps it was not bad that they would have to wait some more years until then, until they both had grown a tad older?

Meanwhile Lieutenant Groves 'accidentally' met the lovely Miss van Dyke, well, admittedly, he aimlessly ambled through the town for most of the afternoon hoping to encounter her, and his effort paid off at last. He offered her his arm, she accepted, so now they sauntered along the pier and he pretended to be interested in the weather. He was angry with himself, for coming up with such a silly topic, for his own desire to be with her, for the fact that he couldn't refrain to steal some glances of her whenever he could.

But the lady was less interested in the skies and asked rather casually, "Lieutenant… Have you ever wondered why Mr. Gillette has _hanged_ himself?"

"Well, I suppose he truly had some glasses too much, Miss, or he couldn't get over it that he wasn't promoted after all –"

"No, I mean – why did he _hang_ himself? Why didn't he use his pistol?"

He had no answer, and she continued, "I've pondered this point for quite a while now, and I still don't get it. Hanging is a terrible way of dying; it can take very long until one's dead. Had he shot himself, it would have been much easier!"

"Oh well… I don't know! Maybe he didn't think of it?"

"Didn't _think_ of it? He must have witnessed some dozen hangings in his time in the Navy, probably more. _I_ have seen only one in my whole life, and I shall certainly never forget it!"

"Maybe he wanted to punish himself for his last sin? Maybe he thought that _if_ he sinned against the Lord, it ought not to go quickly and quietly…"

"Quietly? Sir, if he had fired his gun, it might have been quick, but certainly not _quiet_."


	16. The Devil Himself

**The Devil Himself  
**

* * *

 _I know and love the good, yet ah! the worst pursue._

 _PETRARCH_

* * *

"This _is_ the fastest ship in the whole Caribbean! I might say – the whole _world_ ," Captain Jack Sparrow said with gleeful satisfaction, affectionately stroking over the rail. "Don't you think, love?"

"They might just as well have killed us, Jack!" Anamaria replied with a scowl.

" _Captain_ , if you please, darling. And they _haven't_."

"I hope you're satisfied now. Have you got what you wanted, or did we risk our bums for the fun of it?!"

They had just escaped three furiously attacking vessels after _Captain_ Sparrow had insisted to sail as close by as they could. It had been Joshamee Gibbs who had sighted them, and to Anamaria's great distress the _Captain_ had been delighted with these news. He had claimed, and probably rightly so, that these three ships, although they sailed under Venetian colours, could be just those ships that had sunk the Dauntless.

Now he sniggered. "I'm right proud of you, luv. You can sail like the devil."

Mr. Gibbs waved his hands frantically. "Don't mention him, _don't mention him!_ It's bad luck!"

He received two very scornful scowls for his contribution, and Jack jeered, "Talking of the devil –"

Mr. Gibbs groaned from the depth of his soul and crossed himself.

Jack shook his head and turned back to Anamaria. "Head east, darling. We're to visit the lovely town of Port Royal."

"Are you insane? Oh please, don't answer that, of course you are. What the hell can you possibly want in Port Royal? Have another rendezvous with the hangman?!"

He shot her a broad grin. "It's time to visit some old acquaintance, honey. Now set top sails and don't defy your Captain, will you?"

"You _aren't_ my Captain, Jack Sparrow! And I demand you to tell me _now_ what you want in Port Royal!"

Her face left no doubt that she was exasperated – he _loved_ it when she looked like that, but by experience he knew that he was close to the edge, and one better wouldn't want go over the edge with Anamaria.

"Darling," he said archly, "I need to have some words with my ol' mate, the Commodore."

She didn't know whether she should laugh or shout at him. "The Commodore?" she taunted, "Commodore 'I intend to see to it that every pirate gets what he deserves' Norrington?"

"And still you nursed him, darling, didn't you? And I daresay after rescuing his life, he might have softened up a bit against me, too."

"Like when you saved his fiancée's life and he wanted to hang you for it?"

"You see, love, in the end, we all just do what we ought to do. Every man's got his job. I'm a pirate, he's the Commodore, his trade is to hang people like me, and my task is to ridicule him when he tries… However, _this_ time, he might be rather pleased to see me."

"And why should the _Commodore_ be pleased to see you? For _I_ can hardly stand the sight."

"Now, now," he giggled and tried patting her head before she slapped his hand away. "The good Commodore, the scourge of piracy – don't you think he'd _love_ to hear some more about the scoundrels who've lost him his precious ship?"

She was intrigued despite herself. "Don't you dare keep me on tenterhooks, Jack. What did you see there?"

His expression turned suddenly serious. "As I said – I've seen the devil. Which either means I'm mad – spare your breath for the soup, luv – or what I saw was a ghost, or… If it was up to me, I'd prefer it to have been a ghost, really."

In the evening, the Captain informed the whole crew about his discovery; they listened with wide eyes and open mouths, and in the end, Anamaria moaned, "Oh _damn it_!"

"Damn _him_ , once and for all I say!"

Even Mr. Cotton's parrot screeched, "Blast 'em to hell! Blast 'em to hell!"

When the Black Pearl was close to Port Royal after a voyage of thirteen days, Anamaria at last asked a question that had bothered her, but which she had known useless anyway, unless they had actually reached their destination. But now, she sneered dryly. "So, Captain Sparrow, what will it be? Do we just sail into the harbour and wait for them to start the fire, or do you have a better plan?"

"Love, ya can't just sail into the harbour like that with a pirate ship. Would be quite dangerous, don't you know that?"

She struggled for patience. "I was more afraid that _you_ might have forgotten all about it."

"You wait here with the Pearl and the crew, while Mr. Gibbs and I will take the boat. Ready, Mr. Gibbs?"

That one twisted his face and rubbed his eyes. "Jack, frankly I'd be glad if you'd leave me here and take somebody else. I don't think the Commodore would be very pleased seeing me, and as for me seeing _him_ –"

"But that's just the reason why I _want_ you to accompany me, Mr. Gibbs. You know the Commodore of old; _you_ know best how to talk to him."

"If I knew that, I'd still be in the Navy, Jack."

"There's no reason to be so coy about it, Mr. Gibbs, there may be some awkwardness in the beginning, but once they've heard what we've come for, they'll welcome us with open arms."

Mr. Gibbs was _very_ sceptical about that, but there was no use in arguing with the Captain anyway, he knew him too long to even consider it. He shrugged, exchanged a bewildered look with Anamaria, and followed his boss. He was also the one to row the boat in the darkness, which they tied a good deal away from the actual harbour, on some rocky and hidden part of the coast.

"Jack, if my eyes do not fool me, there is only one ship in the harbour – ya think it possible Norrington has already left?"

"We'll see."

"But what do we do if he's gone? This Gillette is a terrible fool, and he doesn't owe you his life either. _He_ won't listen to you!"

"But I know somebody that he might listen to instead…"

They climbed up the rocks without being seen, but when Gibbs turned towards the fort, he was pulled back. "Wrong way, Mr. Gibbs. Come here, we need to go up _there_!"

In the faint moonlight, Gibbs saw his Captain pointing into the darkness, towards a shiningly bright mansion atop the nearest cliff.

"To the Governor? Jack, I don't think that's a good idea, that man is –"

"Don't want to see the Governor, do we?"

In the shadows, they approached the house, and with the help of a veranda and the balcony's parapet, they soon came to the window that Jack meant to be the right one. Mr. Gibbs' hands were all sweaty with nerves. "They hang us straight away for this, Jack! Breaking and entering into the Governor's house of all places –"

"The end justifies the means, Mr. Gibbs. Come on!"

Elizabeth wasn't sleeping yet, she couldn't – she had too many things on her mind – when she heard whispers on the balcony. Her curiosity drove her out of her bed, she tiptoed to the window and peeked out, shocked for a second to see two men manipulating the window of the room next to hers, but then, she recognised something about the movements of one of them. She opened her own window and hissed, "Hey! _Hey!_ Wrong window!"

One of the two men nearly lost his balance with surprise, but the other caught him and pushed him over.

"Lovely evening, Miss Swann!" Captain Jack Sparrow grinned broadly, flashing the full amount of his gold teeth. She quickly pulled them in. "Are you crazy? If somebody finds you here! You almost broke into my father's bedroom!"

"See, I _thought_ you wouldn't possibly be snoring like that."

"What on earth are you doing here!"

"Elizabeth, darling, I've missed you terribly, you know that?"

She arched a brow. "Oh, sure. So what do you want?"

"Your friend, the Commodore – is he around?"

"Certainly, he wouldn't be _here_ , and if he _was_ , you'd be dead by now, but most regrettably, he isn't in Port Royal at all – what do you want from him anyway?"

"Need to talk to him about some urgent dealings, luv! Who is his deputy?"

"Lieutenant Groves, but – what sort of urgent dealing?!"

Jack smiled genially. "Groves! That's the bore we brought home, isn't he? How lucky!"

"What do you want from James, or his deputy?"

"Let me put it like that, luv – I have some news for 'em that'll certainly be of interest to them."

Elizabeth was speechless. Seeing _Jack_ _Sparrow_ and _Mr._ _Gibbs_ in the middle of the night in her _bedroom_ , asking for _James_ because he wanted to pass on some _information_ – perhaps she had fallen asleep after all and this was just one of those bizarre dreams.

"Send a note to Groves to come up here at once, darling."

"I will do no such thing! Are you drunk or what?!"

They quarrelled around in whispering tones, but eventually, Jack had her persuaded – she vaguely thought that he had an air about him that could sell a barrel of rum to a teetotaller. She scribbled some lines and sneaked down to send one of the footmen to the fort. Coming back, she saw that her two late visitors had made themselves at home, but she knew them too well to even be surprised.

Groves arrived twenty minutes later, his wig lopsided and a bit out of breath. He couldn't _believe_ that Little Miss Suit Yourself had the nerve to call for him in the middle of the night, and even more incredulous he was with the fact that he'd actually _obeyed_ that insolent person. He glared at her and was ready to let her know in no uncertain terms just _how_ indignant he was with her behaviour, but she told him to be quiet and led him up to her room, answering to his puzzled inquiries, "I can't explain, see for yourself!"

He stopped dead when entering the room, and shortly, his hand flew to his sword. "You?!"

"Shh!" Elizabeth, Jack Sparrow and Mr. Gibbs made simultaneously. Sparrow seemed highly satisfied with himself, while his mate clearly wished to be somewhere else entirely and Miss Swann shrugged.

"I don't know _what_ it is they want here, but they say it's important."

Once more, Groves opened his mouth for a snide retort, but he had no chance to speak because Sparrow had got to his feet, and for the first time ever, he didn't appear either drunk or deranged. Somehow, that was enough to silence the young Lieutenant and make him listen to a man that he should otherwise have clapped in irons at once.

"Lieutenant Groves, I'm glad to see that it's you we're dealing with. You're a sensible man." Sparrow's features darkened. "I hope you know how to handle this. Roughly two weeks ago, the Black Pearl encountered a small fleet heading westwards and matching the description you gave us of those ships that attacked the Dauntless. We closed in as near as we could before they started fire, and through the telescope, I had a pretty good view on all decks. Their commander is said to be dead for two years now, killed by one of your officers. But to me, he seemed very much alive. We escaped by a hair's breadth –"

Despite himself, Groves muttered, "Are you telling me you've risked coming here only to tell on another pirate, Captain Sparrow? Before we go on – what's in it for you?"

Without a hint of his usual nuttiness Jack answered very earnestly, "Nothing really. But the man we're talking about is a slaughterer, and though perhaps as a pirate he should be some sort of natural companion to me, I must say I utterly rejoiced when I heard of his end back then. This isn't one of the usual pirate threats that you Navy guys manage so nicely on your own. This one is a killer, vicious and cruel, murdering for the sheer pleasure it gives him."

"You know that Commodore Nero?"

"Never heard of him."

"But according to our information it is a man calling himself Commodore Nero commanding these pirates."

"Let him call himself as he pleases. I had a clash with him once…" He pulled his collar open and presented two scarves that must have been affected by a pair of bullets. "And I _did_ recognise him on one of the smaller ships."

Remembering Miss van Dyke's deliberations relating to Gillette's last statements before he passed away, Gillette asked anxiously, "Who is it that man?"

"No doubt you will remember Claudius Friday."

Groves gave a muffled groan while Elizabeth gaped and croaked, "No!"

He nodded softly, maintaining his gaze at the Lieutenant. "I guess you understand what this means?"

"I do," Groves murmured almost soundlessly, his whole pose petrified, but then he seemed to regain composure. "There can't be any mistake about it? It can't have been a man looking very similar?"

"I truly wish I wasn't sure or had been mistaken, Groves. It was a relief believing the devil had gone to hell where he belongs."

Mr. Gibbs, who had been silent all the time, growled quietly, "Friday is the son of the devil himself! He didn't become a pirate for the treasures, he only does it for the victims. He doesn't simply kill them. He stakes them, he mutilates them bit by bit, keeping them just so much alive that they can feel the pain to the utmost extent. He has them tied by their feet and hung head over as living targets for his men to practise shooting and throwing knives, he makes them eat their own intestines, he starts killing off his own crew if he doesn't get fresh meat –"

Groves lifted his hand and gestured at him to stop, "Mr. Gibbs! With Miss Swann present –"

She had stumbled backwards and collapsed on her bed, clasping her hands to her eyes. "I know about him," she whispered, "I read about him… But he's dead! He must be dead!"

"He must have escaped somehow… Captain Stansfield must have been mistaken –"

"Is that what you believe, Lieutenant?" Jack asked with a sneer. "Do you honestly believe your good Captain was merely deceived? I rather think it's been him doing the deceiving."

"Captain Stansfield is a highly decorated officer, Captain Sparrow!"

"He's been highly decorated for his defeat of Friday in the first place," Jack spat. "His whole fame stems from presenting Friday's sword, but the _corpse_ was never found –"

"But the crew! They saw him kill Friday," Elizabeth weakly defended the man whom she had intended her friend Marleen to marry and who in this moment was supposed to be giving James cover.

Groves shook his head. "Only about twenty soldiers survived that battle, Miss Swann, and Stansfield was the only one of rank… Perhaps they weren't as lucky as we believed, but simply ruthless enough – by conspiring with Friday and the Captain, they saved their skin and – but no, it doesn't make sense… After returning to Nassau, they could have –"

"They _could_ have informed somebody, Lieutenant, but why should they? You guys down here have lived under the Commodore's rule for too long to imagine what kind of venality is going on elsewhere. With no war at hand and preciously few pirates to go around, some of His Majesty's sailors have taken to other sources of income. And Mr. Gibbs here is right, Friday never did it for the riches; I bet he's quite generous sharing his loot."

"But why should _Friday_ conspire with _them_ in the first place then? He could have killed them, too, would save him pretending to be dead, for a start!" Elizabeth cried eagerly. She had horrible pictures in her head of Stansfield stabbing James in the back.

Jack chuckled. "But being presumed dead is terribly convenient, darling. Not having your dear Commodore breathing down one's neck... And having friends in the right places is even better. It's good when somebody watches your back and Stansfield by trade knows a lot of things that must be of interest for Friday."

Groves shook himself. "The routes of gold frigates – which ships sail without protection, and roughly even where _other_ Navy ships patrol and how they're armed… A source like Captain Stansfield would be invaluable for any pirate..."

Sparrow nodded. "Exactly. Thanks to the impressive network of communication you lads have established, you always seem to roughly know where your comrades cruise. I bet you even know where the good Commodore is at present?"

His face drained of all colour, Groves nodded in horrified silence. Elizabeth felt close to fainting and whispered, "So what you say is that Friday could know where the Challenger is right now, and how it is armed?"

Once more Groves nodded. "Yes... But all the same – how should Stansfield keep in touch with Friday? The man can't just sail to Kingstown every now and then!"

"That's the only thing I haven't figured out yet," Jack admitted with a shrug.

"Never mind that! The Falcon is sailing right behind the Challenger in this very second, fully armed!" Elizabeth whimpered.

"Wake up your father, Miss Swann. I have to talk to him. Wake him up _now_!"


	17. Atonement

**Atonement**

* * *

 _It's better to act and to regret than to regret not to have acted._

 _MELLIN DE SAINT-GELAIS_

* * *

Once she had mastered her dizziness, Miss Swann was energetic enough once more to throw a tantrum, on the one hand confirming Lieutenant Groves' opinion of her, but on the other, he couldn't deny agreeing with the sentiment as such. She had shouted at them to do something, to rush to the Challenger's support, and he would gladly have done so if only he had known how; according to his calculations, it would take the Halcyon at least five days to catch up with the Challenger. Her father had been so shocked by the news that no useful suggestion could be expected from his side, only Captain Sparrow had kept calm.

He had done what he'd come for, what else could or should he have done than inform the only English officers that he knew he could trust, and leave it to them to handle their own black sheep and Claudius Friday? He and Mr. Gibbs left the confused gathering and intended to return to the Black Pearl, but they weren't out of the house yet (this time, they didn't have to balance on any balustrades at least) when they were stopped by Elizabeth.

"You can't just leave!" she pleaded miserably. "Jack! You've come here to warn the Commodore, and now you want to leave him to his fate?!"

"What else am I supposed to do, Missy? Your good Lieutenant Groves is an apt sailor, and I bet he's a decent strategist as well. He will know what to do, and _I_ have to leave. You may have forgotten, but your local hangman still has an appointment with me."

"Don't give me this nonsense! You've risked coming already, and this time my father wouldn't allow you to be punished. You must do something!"

"And what would that be?"

"The Black Pearl is the fastest ship in the whole Caribbean. Find and inform the Commodore, the Halcyon is too slow, they might not reach them in time!"

"Your Commodore is a clever man, he knows to defend himself and his ship. Why the hell should I risk my neck to rush for somebody's aid who wants to see me dead, eh?"

"You've already risked your neck for him, you've saved him from that island and brought him here –"

"Yes, and I still don't know why I did it. My crew thinks I'm mad."

Mr. Gibbs nodded sagely, but Elizabeth glared at him. "Rubbish, Jack! You've saved him because you're a _good_ _man_ , and because you know very well that the Commodore is good, too. Don't forsake him! You must not let him down now!"

" _I_ have never let him down, sweetheart! And what do _you_ want anyway?!"

"Wait for a minute! Promise me to wait for a minute," she urged him, running up the stairs again, " _Wait!_ "

"What's she so hysteric about?" Mr. Gibbs asked nonplussed watching after her, and his Captain chortled.

"Remember that bet Marty and I had going? I think I'm about to get my ten quid back."

"No!"

"Yes, Mr. Gibbs, _yes!_ It's dawning on dear Miss Swann that –"

"Here!" she cried from above, leaning over the banister and waving with something golden, probably banking on the fact that dangling golden objects in front of a pirate's face never failed to the trick. She rushed downstairs. "Jack, you must give this to Anamaria, will you?"

"What's that?"

She presented him a golden chain with a small golden cross adorned with three diamonds. "Give her this!"

"It is very nice of you to give away your jewellery, Miss Swann, you happen to have some more things made of gold you'd like to dispose of?"

"She's nursed James," Elizabeth panted, "she's saved his life, Dr. Jennings said. Give her this and tell her that God will bless her for her goodness!"

"Hey! So what do _I_ get for my goodness? I've had an eye on this lovely golden statue in your father's –"

"I will reward you, Jack! Go for the Challenger now and I will make my father give you whatever you want, you shall have just anything!"

"You may be sure, darling, I already _have_ everything I want. I got the Pearl back, and being a pirate, I can simply take whatever else I may be in want of. I'm not like your Commodore, you can't tempt _me_ into some suicide mission!"

Mr. Gibbs burst out laughing, "Yes, Miss, and marrying our Captain is out of the question."

Elizabeth's cheeks turned deeply scarlet, even in the dim light of the hallway at two o'clock in the morning. Jack grinned slyly. "Speaking of it, love – shall I congratulate you for getting engaged to young Mr. Turner? I'm still stunned that you resisted _me_ , only to throw yourself into the arms of the puppy."

She glared at him defiantly. "I would have resisted you and if you had been the last man on earth, Jack, no woman right in her mind would ever do as much as _think_ of attaching herself to you!"

He gazed at the necklace in his hand, grinning. "I didn't want you to _attach_ yourself to me, darling. Besides, you're wrong, or you just claimed Mrs. Jack Sparrow to be a lunatic."

" _Mrs._ Jack Sparrow?! Whoever would marry _you_?!"

He sneered and let the necklace dangle before Elizabeth's nose. "Oh, the Lord will bless her."

"No! Anamaria?! What did you do, hit her on the head or something?"

"I resent that!"

"The last time I saw her, she seemed quite sensible."

"Nah, sweetheart, the last time you saw her, she was already married to me for almost two years. At least I think so, I don't know how official a marriage is that was performed by a drunken, shipwrecked priest in Tortuga…"

"But – I thought you stole her ship!"

"I did not steal it, I borrowed it without permission. How can I steal something from my own wife, anyway? What's mine is hers and all that –"

"You – you – made overtures to me while you were married to another woman?!"

"Don't take it too personal, darling, but I – make overtures, you call it – to pretty much every woman I meet. It's a kind of habit."

"You must be joking!"

"What, you really think you're so special, do you?"

"I think nothing of the kind, I –"

"Oh no, you _do_. You're used to wrap any man you meet around your little finger, Missy, and you find it hard to imagine they could withstand you. I was _there_ on the Dauntless that day, remember?"

Every drop of blood Elizabeth possessed was in her head and she opened her mouth for a reply, but he didn't let her.

"You fooled the poor man bad that day, honey, and while I sympathised with your general target of going after the Pearl, I must tell you I was somewhat appalled otherwise. It's one thing for our lot not to play fair – people kinda expect it, you know? It's different when your opponent has no reason to suspect you're dishonest. And twist and turn it as you like, you played with loaded dice, and your friend the Commodore is unlikely to forget that, is he?"

"What the devil do you mean!"

"I mean exactly what I'm saying, sweetheart. You enjoyed having a man like him in the palm of your hand, you got a kick out of it – and don't you dare denying it's true. And just as much you enjoy the whelp trailing after you like the puppy he is. How dare you berate me about the way I handle my marriage, eh? What do _you_ know about it, anyway?! I must have met thousands of women in my life; there was a time when I had a bonny lass in almost every harbour in the whole Caribbean –"

He shot Mr. Gibbs a conspiratorial smile, and that one chortled. " _One_ bonny lass per harbour? Remember the two harpies in San Fernando? When they understood that you had double-played them? Jesus –"

Jack smiled nostalgically with the memory of Carmelita and Juliet – fiery, the both of them. "There are girls that captivate a man's eyes, or spirits, one is pretty, one is sweet-tempered, one is clever, one is funny, I've deemed myself in love with any of them really. When I signed on the Hummingbird – that was Anamaria's ship back then – I did not expect anything but a gifted sailor and a courageous fighter, though Mr. Gibbs here recommends by all means having no women aboard –"

"It's _baaad_ luck to have a woman aboard!" Mr. Gibbs said with emphasis, and for a swift moment Elizabeth remembered him, on board of the Dauntless saying exactly the same to her, and James stepping between them and telling him off for scaring her.

"Luckily, I'm not superstitious. Anyway, I met Anamaria and I realised what an idiot I've been all that time. She's all that, the whole package. Not just a pretty face, not just a plaything to fool around with, but a _real_ woman. Took me all of my persuading powers to make _her_ accept me though!" He chuckled. "Now, my little Miss Swann, _you_ are to marry the whelp, so you will never know the difference. Say hello for me to Will. How's he doing lately?"

"Fine," Elizabeth said testily, "he's fine, but never mind that now! Jack, I beseech you – go after the Challenger, please!"

"Speaking of dear Anamaria, luv – she'd kill me for even suggesting it. And even if she didn't, then the good Commodore would start fire as soon as sighting us."

"No, he wouldn't! He owes his life to you, and James –"

" _James?_ "

"Jack, you said yourself that a friend in the right place is invaluable, and as invaluable a friend as James is to _me_ , _you_ surely won't regret it either to help him once more. Name your price and I'll pay it, I swear, but don't just sail away now! You _mustn't_ doom him –"

" _I'm_ not dooming him, darling. The Commodore is a lucky creature, and I'm sure that he'll be lucky with Friday as well. Trust _him_ to be a good fighter, I must know. Now leave me alone, I have to return to my own lot, be assured I give this to Anamaria, and good day to you!"

He dragged Gibbs away, unaffected by Elizabeth's pleas, vows and curses, following them as far as she could in only her nightgown until she saw them disappear in the distance eventually. She was desperate. Groves had given orders to prepare the pursuit, and certainly, the Halcyon would set sails by noon at the latest. She was a good ship, no doubt, but what if she wasn't fast enough? What if it was already too late? What if...

For some minutes, she had set all her hopes in Jack, she had truly meant she'd be able to convince him to help them. But of course, why should he? He didn't care for James, he might have some grudging respect for him, but in the end, _respect_ didn't matter in such a case. She couldn't even be angry with him; she had to be grateful that he had come to warn James in the first place, more couldn't be demanded from a guy like Jack.

The _nerve_ of that man! She bristled thinking of his curtain-lecture, but was spared pondering it because her concerns for the Challenger's fate were so much more urgent. Oh God, if she thought of this Friday, it turned around her stomach. To fear that they could be captured by that man, what he'd do with them – it took her breath. Did Friday know they were after him? Did he lurk somewhere, waiting for them, luring them into some ambush? Had Captain Stansfield betrayed them already?

How could she have deceived herself like that in him? Half of her was still screaming denial; it _couldn't_ be because it _must not_ be! The good-humoured, easy-going Captain – a traitor, a greedy villain? She remembered their conversations, how pleasant they had always been, but also that she had been strangely dissatisfied with him at other times. When he had spoken of the Fortuna – hadn't she thought that it was improper to be so unceremonious about losing his ship? Hadn't she felt irritated by his obvious lack of true grief after his cousin's death? The obnoxious scoundrel!

She also felt severe stings of remorse for her eagerness to set him up with Marleen – what sort of suitor had she picked there for her friend?! Being her clever self, Marleen hadn't been taken in, thanks to her cool temper that wasn't easily incensed, if it could be incensed at all. Poor Marleen would feel just as bad about the Challenger's dire situation once she heard of it, for cool or not, she must know what it meant. Perhaps she didn't deserve James, alright, perhaps she didn't love him like she should, sure – but she had to be worried all the same.

In this moment Lieutenant Groves came out of her father's study, his face twisted and worn-out, and Elizabeth stormed at him. "Please sir, you must rush to their aid –"

"That is exactly what I'm doing, and all the quicker if you just left me alone, Miss Swann!"

"Lieutenant Groves, I know that James has no truer friend than you, I _know_ and the Lord will bless you for your integrity! Make sure he comes back safe! I _beg_ you, do _more_ than what's in your power!"

He looked at her in surprise. "May the Lord bless _you_ for your concern, Miss! And be assured that I _will_ do just anything I can."

He quickly left and headed down for the fort to arrange the soon departure of the Halcyon; it would be ready to leave by approximately ten o'clock, which left him some more time. He didn't wrestle with his wishes this time, but marched straight to the van Dykes. Miss van Dyke had been in the know about so much already, she deserved to learn about the rest as well. Maybe he wasn't to see her ever again, maybe it was too late for rescuing the Challenger anyway, and the Commodore was already… – No! He didn't allow himself to do as much as _think_ of this possibility. Miss van Dyke was surprised about such an early visitor and asked him to follow her to the parlour. In short and plain words, he reported about Captain Sparrow's unexpected appearance and the information he had conveyed, finishing, "Don't be afraid, Miss, we will set out for their help immediately. The Fortuna is preparing to leave as soon as we can!"

She was very pale and whispered, "Yes, I suppose that's good… Oh Lord!"

"I hope you allow me to express my admiration of your impressive foresight, Miss van Dyke. You were right all along with all your conclusions."

A smile flew over her face like a shadow. "I would thank you at once if I believed to deserve such compliment, Lieutenant. But I merely guessed, rather than concluded, and to think anybody capable of such vile deeds is most certainly no compliment to my own wicked imagination. Not for a minute though, I suspected Captain Stansfield, or thought this infamous pirate to be among the living still, and this being the crucial parts of Mr. Sparrow's disclosure, I cannot claim to have possessed any true insight at all."

"Your modesty is very amiable, Miss van Dyke, though you needn't, you _mustn't_ underrate your own cleverness."

"Oh, you make it hard for me, sir. Shall I decide which is the more valuable quality, modesty or cleverness? I ought to pick virtue at once and declare that I'm not very clever, inducing you to state the opposite and make me blush both with the compliment, and my own guilty conscience for being not very truthful to begin with. No, Lieutenant, I suppose I better stay on the side of truth and acknowledge therefore that I'm far more clever than modest, but cleverness is neither a virtue in many cases, nor a blessing, and most certainly, it is the safest way to sink a woman in society's regard."

"What a shame for society then! Although it wasn't my intention at all to make you choose between them, I shall tell you nevertheless that I'm glad you've chosen truth over virtue. It suits you very well."

"So let me say one more thing considering my possible foresight, which may turn out to be clever, or simply wrong – you've said you were still wondering how Captain Stansfield could keep in contact with those pirates, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have, this was the only thing that even Captain Sparrow had no clue of."

"And how should he, I don't think he's ever encountered the Captain. But I have, and recollecting something he told me once, I might be able to shed some light on this mystery – do you remember the Fortuna's mascot, the albatross? He spoke of it very proudly, claiming that they had tamed it. I mocked him then, but I've seen this creature several times. It _is_ tame, and more than only once I spotted something like small notes attached to its claws. I didn't pay attention then, only thinking to myself that I had done injustice to the Captain for not believing him, but I suppose I understand it now."

He gaped at her, overwhelmed with his admiration for the pretty, smart lady. She was surely right; he had seen the bird in passing once or twice, too, but had forgotten about it instantly.

A look at his pocket watch showed him he had to haste back to the fort, and on the threshold, she stretched out her hand to him. "Lieutenant Groves, I will pray for you and your safe return with the Commodore. I wish there was more that I could do!"

He bowed and took her hand to kiss it, trembling inwardly. "I shall return with the Commodore or not at all, Miss, I promise!"

"That's dreadful, sir!" she cried and blushed. "If there's nothing that you can do for the Commodore, you _have_ to come back at once and stand in for him! Don't say you wouldn't return!"

He turned away and left, and likewise did Elizabeth Swann, sneaking out of her father's house. She had no reason for stealth, but tried to be as silent as possible regardless. Her father had urged her to go to bed after that eventful night, but she could impossibly find rest, so now she walked down to the town. Since the Challenger's departure, she had become a regular churchgoer, though she seldom attended the actual services. Instead, like now, she fell to her knees before the altar in the empty church, and began to pray.

More than eight hundred men, some of them children still, were sailing on the Challenger in this very moment – if Stansfield or the wretched pirate fleet hadn't assaulted them yet. Oh Lord, those poor, poor souls! Not knowing that they had a traitor in their midst, not knowing who was waiting for them… And among them James, the best among _any_ given lot of men. She prayed to God that his famous prowess would save the day; he knew after all that he'd have to take down three ships at once. But he didn't know that they were already waiting for him, and that his backup was in fact his enemy too. He was too decent a man to be capable imagining just _how_ wicked Stansfield really was and how brutal that Captain Friday could be –

"He is an officer of the Royal Navy, Miss Swann, trust the Commodore to be _very_ capable to imagine _every_ vile deed. He's seen enough of them."

Elizabeth gave a start; for a second, she thought her mind was playing a trick on her, but it was only Reverend Martin. She goggled at him, and he gave her a kindly smile. "Don't be surprised, Madam – you spoke your prayers out loud –"

"Did I?"

"Yes, you did, but be not alarmed. I didn't mean to eavesdrop – our conversations with the Lord are a very private matter, and I only heard your last words. I must say I am pleasantly surprised to see you so often here, recently."

She was embarrassed, she couldn't say why. "Well – so many souls in danger – I thought I better pray for them – I…"

"That is very good of you, Miss. I'm sure our Lord will take delight in your eagerness."

"I doubt it, Reverend… I was – I acted very badly, and I – I don't think He – thinks very kindly of me…"

"Our Lord is almighty and _merciful_ , Miss Swann. And allow me the assumption that you cannot have done anything so _very_ bad."

But she had! Without thinking about it, Elizabeth confessed, explaining to the friendly parson why it was going to be all _her_ fault if the Challenger was sunk, if all those souls were to drown, or worse still, and why no one but she was to blame if James did not return home. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but the Reverend listened in perfect silence, until she couldn't go on because she was sobbing too hard to speak.

"Miss Swann," he murmured at last, pulled her up and steered her over to a bench to sit down. "Calm yourself. You know as well as anybody _how_ good a sailor our Commodore is. And it is _not_ your mistake that it is his job to pursue pirates. Sooner or later, he would have heard of this Mr Friday, and he would have set out to hunt him down. It got little, or nothing, to do with _you_. What I understand though is that your mind is very badly stirred, while your soul longs for atonement. I believe I can help you with both."

"Can you?" Elizabeth cried hopefully, despite herself. She didn't think the Reverend could help her; the last thing she needed was a sermon.

"Yes, I believe I can. Come with me, Miss Swann. Certainly, the Lord is pleased with your prayers, but there is but little good in crying your eyes out in the church, when you could be of so much more use to Him elsewhere. Let me help you to put your mind at ease by employing it usefully."

She had no idea what he might be talking about, but followed him nevertheless, grateful for his sympathy. He tugged her arm underneath his own and led her out of the chapel, into the bright sunshine, and curiously, towards the fort, which was just now humming with busy preparations. But he didn't go all the way; instead, he stopped before the small hospital adjoining the fortress.

"Help yourself by helping me, Miss Swann," the parson said brightly and pushed open the door. "There is a lot to do. You can distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts, and in the same moment do something that our Lord will thoroughly approve of."

He was right. At first, Elizabeth was still hesitant, but she soon forgot her doubts, surrounded by so much more tangible misery. The Reverend pointed out a number of patients who had nobody to visit them, either because they didn't have any family, or because their loved ones had to work. She sat next to the beds of a very old, frail lady and listened to her quiet complaints; she nursed two soldiers suffering from chicken pox and a boy of eight years with a broken collarbone. She sat with a fisherman who had lost an eye in an accident, and a young woman who had lost her baby in child-bed. Reverend Martin had been right, there was no room in this hospital to be complacent about her own grief, and before she knew what she was doing, she helped the two tired nurses to hand out lunch.

This was when Sarah found her; poor Governor Swann had discovered that his child was missing, and had sent out a whole party to search her. Reverend Martin walked her to the entrance. "And, Miss Swann? Where shall we two meet again? In church, your father's house or here?"

"I'll return, sir. I promise."

She kept her word and went down to the hospital every morning to see after the patients as good as she could. As she wasn't needed there all the time, she followed the Reverend's suggestion and also began to visit the poor, taking them food, or money, or clothes, but mostly listening to their histories and grievances. It was an education. Her father was the Governor not only of the town but the entire area around, yet he had no concept of the misery right under his nose. And neither had Elizabeth, living her cosy, sheltered life, why, even lamenting at times how boring her life here was and that there was nothing much to do in a place such as Port Royal. But there was.

James had more than once told her and her father that many men, through no fault of their own, were not able to maintain themselves by their labour and that, while it was uncharitable of any man to neglect those who couldn't take care of themselves, they still ought not to be left to the charity of private individuals, but be provided for by the authorities, or in his word, 'the Commonwealth', whose raison d'être it was after all to care for its subjects.

She had never really listened when he had talked of these things, finding them boring and a waste of time, for when _she_ had thought of poor people, she had thought of men such as Mr. Brown, who was in fact far from destitute, just sloppy because he was a drunkard. She simply hadn't been able to imagine that there weren't only people with far less money than she had, but with virtually _nothing_. As far as she had been concerned, Port Royal had ended at its town walls, and she had never once gone far beyond them where the squalor went beyond words or comfort.

A little way apart from the road leading to the vast plantations and sheltered by the jungle, but not three miles inland all the same, a wretched settlement was situated that let even Port Royal in its early days appear like Eldorado.

"Does the Commodore know of this place?" she asked the priest during their first visit together.

The old man nodded. "He does, but there's nothing he can do about it. It is out of his jurisdiction –"

"But he did so much for the town, why –"

"Port Royal is first and foremost a military base and in that capacity Commodore Norrington has all the authority he needs. But this isn't Port Royal, Miss Swann. And what is more – most of the people here are runaway slaves. _If_ he came here, he would – by law – be obliged to arrest them and return them to their old – owners, in want of a better word. You know his views as well as I do –"

"I ought to, but I'm afraid I never much listened."

The old man smiled. "He is an enlightened man; he sees slavery for what it is, an abomination. But as its leading representative, he has to obey the law. So he turns a blind eye to this place and relies on us – civilians – to give relief as we see fit."

Elizabeth nodded, distraught and confused and most of all shaken. When returning home that day, she assailed her father, and what the Commodore's tacit encouragement had never managed to incite in the Governor, his daughter's vivid narration and nagging managed after all. However unwillingly, he gave in to accompany her one morning, and even if he never alighted from his carriage, it was enough still for him to order certain measures to be taken and write petitions to the King.

* * *

"And whereas many men, by accident unevitable, become unable to maintain themselves by their labour; they ought not to be left to the Charity of private persons; but to be provided for, (as far-forth as the necessities of Nature require,) by the Lawes of the Common-wealth. For as it is Unchariablenesse in any man, to neglect the impotent; so it is in the Soveraign of a Common-wealth, to expose them to the hazard of such uncertain Charity." - Thomas Hobbes


	18. The Battle

**The Battle**

* * *

 _We fight to great disadvantage when we fight with those who have_ _nothing to lose._

 _GUICCIARDINI FRANCESCO_

* * *

They had been at sea for a nearly a month when they finally sighted what they had been looking for. At the horizons, nearby an island that was too miniscule to even show up on their maps, a frigate and two smaller ships under Dutch colours had made berth.

The Challenger's crew were out of themselves with thrill and thirst for revenge, and while certainly no one on board was as intent on avenging the Dauntless as the Commodore, he was also the only to keep a level head. He waited for the Falcon to draw up and Captain Stansfield to come rowing over to consult with him.

"It's a trap," he declared matter-of-factly.

"Or plain luck," Stansfield retorted, doing his best not to fidget with excitement and not quite managing.

"In the last quarter of an hour, they didn't even set sail to try and get away."

Stansfield made a dismissive gesture. "Or they might just be plain Dutch merchants after all. Hard to say at this distance, isn't it?"

"Why would three Dutch merchant ships make berth in the middle of nowhere, waiting like a sitting duck for any pirates passing?"

"Heck, what do I know? I say let me go over there and have a look myself."

The Commodore frowned, wondering if Stansfield was imagining himself to still sail his own, much sturdier Fortuna, or if he was just plain reckless.

"The Falcon is fast, sir, but she couldn't easily withstand an attack by three ships, one of them a frigate. _You_ stay out of the range of their long nines as long as possible."

"Look Norrington," the other man flared up, "You're not the only capable sailor here!"

"It's not a question of capability as a sailor, Captain."

"I know what kind of manoeuvres _you_ sailed when you still commanded the Interceptor yourself. Don't even _try_ to tell me –"

"I never put my men at more risk than I could justify and I'm not going to make an exception now."

Stansfield shook his head, clenched his fists, seemed to inwardly count to ten and proceeded, calmer, "That does you credit, Commodore. I am sorry for speaking out of turn. Still – what do you suggest doing? We haven't been on the look-out for them for four weeks only to let them get away now, are we?"

"Since they're not even trying to, we have time to plan our strategy properly." He beckoned at the map before them. "I think it best the Falcon overtake them giving them a wide berth of at least a mile and cut their escape route while we approach them from the side."

Stansfield shook his head. "Forgive me for disagreeing with you, sir. I know you'll want to face them sideways right away so you can fire at them all you have got, but _I_ happen to know this island."

James shot him a scornful sneer while the other man arranged the miniature ships on top of the map before grabbing a sugar pot and pouring out a little heap to represent the island.

"Don't give me that look. I really know it. It's a haven for any number of sea birds nesting there and my men are always keen for some fresh meat when we're on a longer voyage." He grabbed a handful of sugar and let it trickle to form a small line aligning the foreign ships and the island. "There is a hidden sandbank here. You couldn't get close enough for fire when you try to get to them sideways. Really, they found a kind of natural shelter there, because you either make for them in a straight line, thus delaying your possibility to attack until you've swerved by ninety degrees, or you'll run aground. I learnt that the hard way when first coming here. Took us an hour to dig the Fortuna out again, and it'd take the Challenger three or four given her size."

His superior was not convinced, so the Captain told him to go on deck and look through the telescope once more, "... and if you see a tall curious rock shaped like an hourglass you'll know I'm not spinning a yarn."

Sceptic as he may ever be, James found Stansfield was right after all, so they adjusted their tactic accordingly. The Falcon was going to sail around making use of her superior speed, with the Challenger approaching head on.

"Knowing my luck, it'll turn out some harmless merchants after all," Stansfield remarked gaily just before getting back into the rudder boat to take him over to the Falcon.

The Commodore was once again irritated at the younger officer's flippancy, then summoned his men to explain the strategy. An albatross flew far over their heads and disappeared in the distance, and seeing the Falcon proceed as planned, he gave the order to lift the anchors at last and very slowly, they approached the enemy. And it was lucky (in fact, luck had nothing to do with it, as their commander had insisted to hoist only their topgallant sails) they weren't any quicker, because when they ran aground, the Challenger did no more than give a soft shudder.

He wasn't a man given to strong language, but in this moment the Commodore did utter an oath or two (which would, in any other moment, have highly amused his sailors as he wasn't any good at cursing), and spat out a couple more when seeing the enemy ships setting sails after all, forming a line and turning sidewards making ready to fire.

Oh yes, there was a sandbank indeed, but it ran perpendicular to the one Stansfield had forecast. James wasn't even much surprised anymore when spotting the Falcon deviating from her ordered course and turning back, but already, the first volley shot at them, missing them ever so slightly. The smallest of the enemy vessels broke out and headed for them in a forty-five degree angle, staying out of her accomplices' line of fire while those shot a second round, this time grazing the hull but fortunately not doing much damage.

He shouted orders to ready the cannons, and since those were pretty much useless in their present position, he had all spare hands grab a long pole instead and try getting the Challenger free or at least push her around, but a ship of her size wasn't moved so easily, or quickly, either. The men laboured frantically while volley after volley was shot at them with nothing they could do in turn. A particularly heavy impact hit them and despite the fact that they were still stuck in the sand, the mighty vessel was shaken and slightly turned around, far enough to offer an even bigger target but also, happily, giving them first real chance to return fire, too.

"All larboard hands to arms!" the Commodore shouted and instructed his officers to aim at the frigate and let the Falcon deal with the other two. As an afterthought he mumbled to himself, " _Hopefully_..."

"But sir," the Second Lieutenant dared objecting, "We need to get her free first –"

"We're not dug in as deeply as they may have expected, and as for the rest –" He beckoned at the vessel heading straight for their helm. "Let _her_ do it for us."

"Sir?"

"She'll crash into us any minute and the impact will be enough to set us free."

The young man's eyes widened in horror and with a firm voice, James repeated what he had often told his man before.

"As long as he does not despair, a man will resist every attack."

It wasn't much in the way of a battle cry, but the officers knew their commander, knew his cool head and trusted his infallibility of judgement implicitly. A louder, more violent motto might have given them the idea that there _was_ reason to despair. As it was, all orders were steadily carried out with maximum efficiency and not a hint of panic.

He turned out to have been right, too, because shortly after the enemy ship did collide with the Challenger and pushed her out of her state of disability.

"Open fire!" he shouted at once and took considerable satisfaction seeing the first salvo hitting the frigate squarely and causing material damage.

Regardless, the enemy seemed to know no fear and now advanced them too, unhindered by the shallow waters due to their inferior size, all the while firing all they'd got at them. And the Falcon was back, too, not at all where it ought to be given the situation but manoeuvring to position herself at a forty-five degree angle behind the Challenger, perfectly out of reach for its cannons and just as perfectly aligned to fire at them herself.

Through the deafening noise of the cannon fire he rushed to the bow and yelled commands to get into position to fire at her if need be, but only enough to keep her at bay and chase her around while keeping focus on the other ships and making ready to be entered. Defying the officers' incredulous glances, he snarled, "That's an order!"

Used as they were to obey him they did so now, clearly convinced that he had lost his mind. He was vindicated when the Falcon fired her first shot at them, but he had no time to feel smug about it. Two dozen pirates or more from the smallest ship invaded the Challenger, cutlasses between their teeth and apt at throwing them.

He pulled his sword and yelled, "Cannons do not seize fire! Everyone else – fire at will!"

He saw a dozen of his own men hit or stabbed within the first few minutes. And then, he saw _him_ , the actual leader of the attack. He wasn't very tall, comparably skinny in fact, dressed in white from head to toe and fighting like a berserk. He had a scimitar in each hand and whirled them through the air just virtuously, and most of all – he was laughing, laughing like mad, he probably _was_ mad, but a master fighter nevertheless, his white attire soon splattered by blood.

The Commodore was ready to meet him but he found a whole deck of fighting soldiers and pirates between them; the other ships had closed in far enough for their own crews to enter, there was not an inch of the deck to been seen among all the fights going on. The Navy soldiers of course outclassed their enemies in terms of weaponry and fighting technique, and even if every pirate on board of the three ships had invaded would still have outnumbered them four by one. That did not detain the pirates, however. They fought with desperate force as if it was _them_ defending their own ships, and nefariously, not every soldier on board was fighting on the same side.

Having given up their attack due to its utter hopelessness, the Falcon had anchored and its crew joined the fray, but certainly not to support their fellow soldiers. It was a massacre, the deck was red with blood, the frigate was still firing at them and stray cannonballs decapitated any man in their way and hit holes in the deck; his crew fought bravely, but one man after the other got injured or killed.

Somewhere in the chaos he spotted _Captain_ Stansfield and rushed to meet him head-on. Their swords clashed and Stansfield shot him a wry grin.

"How suitable, Commodore! Soldier against soldier."

He paraded James' next stroke and attacked, but James fury made him twice as strong.

"You are no soldier, Stansfield! A soldier is a man of honour!"

"You really are a chip of the old block, aren't you? And to think you're only a couple of years older than me."

"How much did it take to make you sell your soul to the devil?"

"Quite a few bucks, old chap. More than you'd ever dream of."

"I don't dream of _money_!" he spat and managed to slice Stansfield's left arm.

Still, the man was giggling. "Oh no, I know what _you_ dream of. And yet all your _honour_ didn't get you the little strumpet!"

It was common among soldiers – maybe men in general – to deprecate the opponent in a fight. The Commodore had never entirely understood that stupid habit and strongly discouraged his soldiers from falling into it, because in his experience, it hardly ever paid off to make one's enemy truly furious. Yes, a few men would make mistakes when angry, but the majority simply developed powers they didn't know they had. Pride, envy, avarice - these were the sparks to set on fire the hearts of all men, and pride – in its incarnation of righteous vengeance – certainly was the strongest of them all.

Consequently, hearing Elizabeth slurred like that, he felt both red-hot wrath and new energy pulsing through his veins and with six energetic strokes, he had Stansfield flat on his back. He closed in for the kill, hesitated, grabbed his gun and hit it over the other man's head instead. He quickly removed Stansfield's gun and sword, threw them overboard, and rejoined the fray.

Had it been nothing but the ships themselves fighting it out between them, the enemy wouldn't have stood a chance. They might prickle the Challenger like a cumbrous fly over a sick person but they could never beat her. Yet in hand-to-hand combat, even outnumbered as they were, the pirates weren't as hopeless as all that. They fought like devils and their weapons gave them further advantage, because the soldiers, as meticulously trained as they were to aim their muskets and hit their target, or handle a sword or bayonet with precision, had little in the way of short distance arms, and there simply wasn't enough room to take big swings without risking to hit a fellow soldier. So they were picked off one by one with their throats slit or their chests stabbed, and if that didn't kill them they were trampled by the enemy and their own fellows alike once they went down.

Like the eye of a hurricane, their leader fought in their midst, corpses or mutilated sailors paving his way and finally James managed to get to him. The other man made a small, mocking bow when they were facing each other at last; he wasn't much older than James, his once probably even and regular features were disfigured by scars, and his shining black eyes were sparkling with malice.

"Commodore Norrington! We meet at last," he drawled condescendingly, crossing his blades. "You will regret not to have died the last time we've met."

" _You_ will regret that we've ever met at all! Captain Friday, I presume?"

Friday grinned, revealing pointed white teeth that looked like fangs. "Got there at last, did you?"

"Just counting two and two. Incidentally, I saw your crony off just now."

The pirate guffawed. "Oh, him! Stansfield is but a milksop."

"Yes, I wondered what strange bedfellows you've chosen for yourself. I'll make sure to present the Admiral not only with your sword, but with your head this time."

"Ha! I beat you once, and I know for sure I will do so again."

The man lunged forth and stroke with both swords at once; James had to hand it to the pirate – he surely knew what he was doing, he had never seen a better sword fighter, including Elizabeth's fiancé. Friday closed in step by step, cackling and jeering, "I won't kill you at once, Norrington! I will carve you up like a turkey, but I'll leave it to you to choose the sequence. Most people prefer to start with the nose, you know? I will sink my teeth into your flesh and drink your blood and you will _beg_ me to have mercy on you and kill you!"

The Commodore didn't doubt the seriousness of these announcements for one second, nevertheless he snarled, "I have never begged for a man's mercy in my life."

"You clearly have no idea what agony can make a man do. Just look at the way my lot fight compared to yours. _Your_ men only fight for their lives. _My_ men on the other hand fight not to see hell _before_ they're dead. And soon you, too, will experience pain beyond expression, you have my word on that."

James could dodge a couple of strikes, but got hit by the next, the sharp blade cutting through his waistcoat, shirt and skin of his chest like butter. It wasn't too bad though, he scarcely felt any pain anyway, but his opponent cried triumphantly, "See? Like a turkey. If you give up now, I pledge to put a bullet in your head before eating you."

"But wouldn't that spoil for you?"

"Seeing the famous Commodore Norrington whimpering for mercy will be my reward."

They went on fighting all the time, and James snarled, "You take this very personal, don't you? Shouldn't _I_ be the one taking things personal after you've murdered my men and destroyed my ship?"

"And what a pretty ship it was, Norrington! But you've got this one for it, not bad either – we will make a lot of money with these posh trimmings. Like an invitation, isn't it? But to come back to your question – yes, I do take this personal, in a way. You were famous for never losing a battle until you've met me, and I will take pride in having defeated a man that was said to be invincible. Your glory will only increase my own."

"If it's fame you're after – why never leave any survivors who can spread it?"

"I need no public acknowledgement, Norrington. It's enough that _I_ know. I've never lost a battle either!"

A stray cannonball hurled through the air and nearly hit him, but the pirate didn't bat an eyelid and just gingerly stepped aside, even making good use of the move by hacking at his opponent.

He panted scabrously. "I will drink your blood and feast of your liver and drink mead from your skull, Commodore. I may even share my celebratory feast with you." He licked his lips obscenely and bared his teeth. "In a way I'm glad you didn't sink with your ship, I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

As demented as he looked and sounded, as viciously on point were his attacks, and it took the Commodore everything he had to keep him at bay, faintly wondering how long he could hold out.

"Do you want me to stop, Commodore? One word is enough! Say 'surrender' and I'll stop."

Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Never!"

In this moment, he saw the most astonishing thing appearing right behind his opponent. A ship was coming towards them, a _familiar_ ship with black sails, and for one second, he was taken by surprise that Sparrow should be in league with these butchers after all – he hadn't expected _that_. Seizing his chance of his opponent's swift state of distraction, Friday plunged forth and James received another strike, to the left shoulder, and this time, it _did_ hurt. He pulled himself together; he had been hit before, it wasn't too bad – at least he hoped so.

Then, he heard an explosion and realised that the Black Pearl was shooting at the enemy's nearest vessel, and with an expression of surprise, Nero looked aside.

It was surely neither sportive nor gentleman-like, but James in turn seized the opportunity presenting itself and lunged at him, dealing him a severe stroke making him lose his left scimitar and shout with fury. Blood was shooting out of his forearm.

James tried to smile "Equal chances, don't you think?"

His enemy was infuriated, both with his injury and the fact that Sparrow's men were entering the Challenger, too, fighting alongside the crew and much better prepared for it. The tables were slowly turning, but the battle between Friday and himself didn't lose vigour; both gave all they had, and very faintly, James realised that he was going lose after all. The Challenger might be rescued, but he wouldn't be able to stand up to his opponent's fierce attacks much longer; his left arm turned number with every minute.

"What's that you've got there?" Friday shouted, flourishing his weapon dangerously close to James' anyway bleeding chest. He caught the ring, Elizabeth's ring, with the tip of his blade and with one pull ripped the entire chain off.

This was _it_. He'd _had_ it. " _Give that back to me!_ " James roared and with the sheer power of a patient man who had had enough, he jumped forth and dealt Friday several blows so hard that his opponent lost his second sword. But still, the man was roaring with laughter.

James snatched back the ring and raised his sword for the final thrust, but hesitated when he saw Friday's evil grin, having drawn a hand grenade from his belt, pulling its fuse with his teeth and training it at a gaping hole in the deck.

"History has taught you nothing, eh?" he chortled. "You really ought to make sure your enemy can never get to your powder magazines, Commodore!"

James stared at him in disbelief. That maniac would rather kill them all than give up. Oh well, he might contemplate doing the same in a similar situation, but surely, he wouldn't _titter_ in that moment! And then...

He heard the shot and assumed that he would die in the next second. He didn't though. Nothing much happened except for Friday being bodily thrown back – away from the hole in the deck, that was, and a red flower growing on his right shoulder. The man himself looked dumbfounded. Instinctively, James swung his sword and dealt Friday's right forearm such a blow that the grenade flew overboard. Alongside Friday's hand.

Only now James dared to take a swift look who might have been the shooter. Possibly, his own face was just as bewildered as his opponent's in that second – he saw Mr. Gibbs lowering a musket and running down the steps from the helm. He couldn't but goggle at his former inferior.

" _Mr. Gibbs?!_ "

* * *

As long as he does not despair... Machiavelli

Pride, envy, avarice... Dante


	19. Two Villains

**Two Villains**

* * *

 _The Value or WORTH of a man is, as of all other things, his Price; that is to say, so much as would be given for the use of his Power… And as in other things, so in men, not the seller, but the buyer determines the Price._

 _THOMAS HOBBES_

* * *

Half an hour later it was all over. With their leader incapacitated by having no more hands to fight with, half of the pirates gave up almost at once. The other half was soon overwhelmed by the joint forces of the Challenger's and the Black Pearl's crews, and as for the Falcon's surviving soldiers – their attempts at instant desertion didn't get them anywhere and only the Commodore's authority kept their comrades from punishing their treacherous brothers with their bare hands.

He ordered to clean up the mess, look after the injured and bring the shackled pirates as well as the remaining members of Captain Stansfield's crew under deck when he was approached by a strikingly beautiful woman in pirate garb.

"I should like a look at your injuries, Commodore," she said calmly.

He goggled at her. "I'm sorry?"

She beckoned at his bloody coat. "Your injuries, sir," she repeated. "Gotta make sure you're alright."

"I _am_ alright, Miss -"

"Allow me to be the judge of that."

Not waiting for his answer, she snatched the lapels of his coat and drew them away, critically inspecting his chest wound followed by his shoulder.

"Nothing a bit of alcohol and some bandages won't cure, I'm sure," was her verdict.

"Yes, thank you, but –" Only now he spotted a little diamond cross around the woman's neck. "I _know_ this –"

"I didn't steal it!" she snarled.

"I didn't mean to insinuate you had!"

"It was a gift if you must know –"

They were joined in this moment by Captain Sparrow, who touched the brim of his non-existent hat in mock salute with one hand and slung his other arm around the woman's shoulder.

"Mission accomplished?" he addressed the woman.

"Oh yes, he'll survive."

"Thank goodness."

James stared at the odd couple in utter bafflement but rallied himself quickly. He took a bow. "Allow me to thank you from the bottom of my heart, Captain Sparrow –"

"See, luv? _He_ calls me _Captain_!"

"I'll still call you idiot, Jack!" she merrily replied before James could get another word in.

He tried anew. "This is the second time you have saved my life, and not only mine but more importantly the lives of many of my men. I shall forever be indebted you."

"Oh boy, you don't even know how much," Sparrow retorted, grinning so broadly that every single of his golden teeth was flashing.

Still goggling, something clicked in James' brain. "And thank _you_ , too, Miss – Anamaria, right? I have heard what you have done for me in the past –"

"Hold your fire, Commodore," Sparrow cut in, still grinning dementedly. "I know you're a lucky man with the ladies but I should thank you to stop making love to my wife."

"Your –" James took another glance at the woman, who was rolling her eyes just now. She _was_ utterly beautiful, and if her expression was anything to go by, also seemed both smart and sane. Not at _all_ what one would have surmised the _wife_ of Captain Jack Sparrow to be like. Bemused, he murmured, "Please forgive me if I gave offence, I –"

Sparrow, clearly disliking not being in the focus of attention, interrupted once again. "See?" he cackled, "I _told_ you, you wouldn't believe the sheer ruddy _Englishness_ of this chap. _And_ he calls me Captain!"

"I do indeed, Captain, honour where honour is due. But why on earth – I mean – did you just pass by coincidence?"

"Coincidence? Hell, no! I was _sent_ here, Commodore. In fact, a charming young lady promised me her entire heritage if we should find you in time."

Ominous as that claim appeared, James before long learnt what Sparrow meant, listening in ever-growing bewilderment. By then, they were sitting in his quarters; Anamaria had treated his wounds as well as his crew's and the prisoners' and Sparrow regaled himself on the best Scotch his host had to offer.

"... I'm telling you, the little damsel was _seriously_ distressed. Handed out the family jewels, practically on her _knees_ begging me go looking for you. She was scared that the Halcyon couldn't make it in time, and right she was, lame buggers. Anyway, she offered me to ask for whatever I want in return for the favour."

He was stunned. "Excuse me?"

"No, no, she didn't say she'd marry me," Sparrow chortled. "I asked her about it, and she retorted something including the words 'not if you were the last man on earth', roughly –"

"You didn't tell me _that_ ," his wife said drily.

"Din't wanna hurt your feelings, darling. For what it's worth, _I_ think your taste is excellent."

She just snorted.

"However," Sparrow went on, "apart from this tiny preclusion, she was very generous. How large is the Governor's fortune, you reckon, Commodore?"

"Captain Sparrow – you cannot – you know Miss Swann is very impulsive, you can impossibly –"

"Yes, mettlesome, isn't she? And so _rich_!"

"Listen, Captain – I don't mean to impose my own fortune was only half as grand as the Governor's, but name your price and I will pay it!"

"Now that's funny – I think she used exactly the same words."

"How much do you want, Captain Sparrow? Would fifteen thousand pounds suffice?"

"What about twenty-five?"

James swallowed, nodded and said hoarsely, "Agreed, twenty-five thousands –"

"Ah, thinking about it – what'd you say to thirty-five?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before groaning, "Thirty-five thousand pounds. I don't possess so much money at present, Captain Sparrow, you can get twenty-five at once and the other ten in approximately two or three years. It's a good deal for you, Captain, for as long as the Governor lives, Elizabeth has no money of her own to give to you."

"What if you go belly-up in the meantime?"

Anamaria elbowed him. "Jack!"

"I'm going to inherit fifteen thousand pounds one day and I'm sure it can somehow be arranged to make that sum over to you even if I'm dead –"

"You ought to demand a pay rise! Thirty-five thousand pounds, that's nothing, that's but one or two merchant vessels – ever thought about changing your career?"

"Absolutely not."

"That's the thing I find so weird about you, Commodore. You're always so righteous, so – so –"

"Stiff?" he suggested laconically.

"Yes of course, but that wasn't the word I was looking for! I mean, what on earth makes you offer me your whole fortune and even your heritage just to stand in for dearest Elizabeth's debts?"

"She's offered you her father's fortune to help my crew. It's only fair that I take on this duty myself."

"I don't think she was worrying much for the _crew_ , mate." He held the Commodore's gaze for some seconds longer than the latter was comfortable with before continuing, "Keep your hard-earned money, I only wanted to see how far you'd go. Just out of interest – would you have agreed to fifty thousands, too?"

"I could not have, for I couldn't give you my word that I'll ever possess so much money."

"See? That's what I mean. You're such a good egg, Commodore, always so honourable, always so unselfish! And when I asked you about possible changes of career, I rather thought of myself… My age, a man starts wondering about the future, you know? And an idea popped into my mind – right after sailing out of Port Royal with dearest Elizabeth's promise to do anything in her power if we only found and brought you back. Why not, I asked myself, plead for clemency for me and my lot, make the Governor sign an amnesty and become righteous privateers?"

"It isn't in the Governor's power to grant you that, I'm afraid."

"Yes, I know. Mr. Gibbs told me. And this is where you come into play."

"I cannot grant you a full pardon either. For goodness' sake, Captain Sparrow, if it had been only up to _me_ , I wouldn't even have tried to hang you last time around. You saved Miss Swann's life after all!"

"Yes, yes, saver of lives all around, that's me. But I think you _can_ help me after all..."

James listened to the proposal in doubtful silence, argued its weaknesses, carried a point or two, and finally went to bed with his head swirling.

Much of the next morning passed repairing the Challenger as good as they could, though it must be said that she had withstood the hostile fire remarkably well and for the first time, her captain was endeared to her and thought he might even tolerate the remaining golden trimmings. The pirate ships were thoroughly searched, bringing to light the most unexpected prize – Friday had fifty-five signed confessions stored in his quarters, containing gruesome admissions of evil of the entirety of Stansfield's crew and the Captain himself.

Around noon, they were joined by the Halcyon at last. Lieutenant Groves was overjoyed to see the ships and most of all, his Commodore again, equally horror-struck by Stansfield's and his men's deeds, and together with his superior he descended into the hull down to the cells in order to interrogate the prisoners. Some were pitiful creatures, formerly sailing on merchant ships that had been captured by Friday. They had been forced to choose between their own gruesome deaths and serving under Friday's command, and judging their faces, they might have been better off dead. They looked haunted by what they had seen or done themselves, their mouths twisted and their eyes empty. Not so their Captain, or 'Commodore' as he styled himself. Claudius Friday had a cell for himself, not because anybody thought he had to be treated better than the rest, but because he had bitten off the nose of a man he had shared a cell with, claiming he needed human flesh to still his hunger, and, who knew, perhaps not even lying.

He welcomed his visitors with a contemptuous sneer, his arm stumps bandaged, but his spirits unbroken. "Ah, Commodore Norrington," he drawled. "How does it feel to owe one's life to a pirate?"

"I shall ask your accomplice Mr. Stansfield that. Why, it's almost enough to pity the man."

"I thank you for that, Norrington!" resounded that one's voice from the other side of the dark, cavernous room.

"I'll deal with you later!" the Commodore called in his direction and turned back to Friday. "Have your injuries been dealt with sufficiently, Mr. Friday?"

The man spat out. "The filthy nigger bitch patched me up while I was unconscious!" he complained.

"You may not thank the lady, but I do. I should hate for you bleeding to death before we've reached Nassau."

Friday giggled. "Yes, that's what I imagine! I'd knew even you would come round to see it my way eventually, given enough leverage."

"Excuse me?"

"You want to see me hanging, Commodore. It's a slow shameful death, and you'll just _love_ watching it," he snarled with relish, triumph gleaming in his eyes.

"Oh no, you mistake me. For all I care, they can chop your head off or let you rot away in jail. No, what _I_ want is to see you taken to trial."

"You're a bloody fool, Norrington! Scratch but the surface of your civilisation and underneath you'll find the writhing worms of barbarity."

"The veneer might be ever so thin, it is the line that no man must ever cross regardless."

"And if he does?" Friday taunted.

"Then _civilisation_ will deal with him in a _civilised_ way by giving him a fair trial no matter what."

"And what if I was acquitted?"

"If you can convince a jury not to sentence you for killing eight hundred and fifty-eight of my soldiers, not to mention the eight dozen who gave their lives yesterday, why, in that case I should love to hear that explanation myself. It would surely ease my soul."

The other man scoffed. "You mocked me for picking strange bedfellows, here you are talking grandiloquently about being civilised – and yet I didn't see you object when a bunch of pirates came to your rescue."

"I hadn't thought I would have to explain to you the difference between Captain Sparrow and you, Mr. Friday, or the difference between sins and crimes. Captain Sparrow may be a criminal and a sinner, yet neither his sins nor his crimes ever crossed that one small line we've been talking about. But I didn't come here to debate basic humanity with you; I knew you'd have nothing to contribute."

"So what do you want? Crowing over me? You may have won _this_ battle, but you and I both know you didn't manage it on your own, and nothing will ever give you back your precious Dauntless either."

"I came to hear about that famous battle that you were supposed to have died in."

"And do you a favour? Not for the world!"

"Never mind," the Commodore replied quietly, thinking he had understood how Friday was to be worked upon. "We know enough to reconstruct the events ourselves. You've been defeated by Stansfield and his men who proposed a bargain then – your lives in return for a share of your future loot –"

He battled with himself to conceal his satisfaction when seeing Friday's fury. "Defeated?! I've _never_ been defeated!"

Obviously, this was wrong, otherwise he wouldn't be squatting in a cell just now, but the Commodore refrained from pointing out the fallacy and stopping Friday's ravings. To please his own twisted sense of pride, the pirate told him all he wanted to know, thus filling in all the holes that the found confessions hadn't explained.

As it was, the Fortuna had been on the verge of a total defeat back then with more than half of her crew wounded or dead, and Captain Barnes determined to fight until the last man. He had received a shot in the head at this point, and the shooter had been no other than Stansfield himself. He had pleaded for the cessation of hostilities and offered a bargain. Friday, relishing to play with his prey, had heard him out, and found that he should rather like the deal Stansfield had proposed, offering his assistance in future raids and information on Navy patrols, and a couple of new ships for a start, which he obtained by pulling over two Dutch merchant vessels which he claimed to 'confiscate' before murdering their crews. He even went so far as to try and procure the deck hands for those.

Friday was no fool and had asked why he should trust Stansfield – who'd guarantee him that this one wouldn't simply return to Nassau if he let him go, and come back with the whole fleet. But Stansfield was sly and ruthless enough to counter that argument. He singled out two dozen men that he had faith in, let them come forth and ordered them to execute their surviving fellow sailors. He knew his lot, and they obeyed him without question. Then, he made them sign confessions to be kept by Friday, and wrote one himself, confessing that it had been him who had shot Captain Barnes.

Of course, he asked for a certain share of Friday's future loot, but being the shrewd judge of character he was, Stansfield knew exactly how far he could go – after all, _Friday_ might not have been in the business for the riches it brought, but most of his men fought decidedly better when there was something in it for them. And there was yet another advantage – being presumed dead prevented Friday from being hunted by the combined forces of the English Navy as well as the French and Spanish authorities any longer. With Stansfield providing information on the routes of gold frigates, Navy patrols and their armaments, he could comfortably afford staying away from human settlements, too, and pursue his favourite pastime of overwhelming, torturing and killing his victims at his leisure.

"And dear Lieutenant Stansfield got his promotion and more gold on top than he would ever have dared to dream. You idiots don't get paid too much, do you? Perhaps your king should consider that loyalty can in fact be bought. Oh, just by the by – you have him to thank for handing me over the rough coordinates of your precious Dauntless, Commodore –" He grinned maliciously. "I only wish I knew how much you've suffered losing her!"

Lieutenant Groves couldn't restrain himself any longer and would have punched Friday right into his face, but the Commodore was quicker and held him back.

"No, stop it!"

Friday cackled raucously. "Leave him! Let him taste a bit of _my_ field of expertise! Not everybody is as constipated as you, Commodore, so why don't you leave the interrogation of prisoners to the _real_ men?"

Groves winced back, shuddering, and the Commodore said through gritted teeth, "It's all right, Lieutenant. Please set up the report for Admiral Thompson, and inform your men to prepare for a return to Port Royal."

Groves nodded, saluted and almost fled the place. "That was close," Friday remarked in a tone bordering the conversational. "Pity you held him back. I should have liked to see another crack in the veneer of mankind that you treasure so much."

Having said this, he spat the Commodore right in the face.

James straightened up, looking disgusted. "Just for the record, Mr. Friday – you won't die undefeated. You seem to forget that all the time."

He turned around and left the cell, feeling sick and besmirched, not because Friday had spat at him, but for what he had heard. He addressed the guard, "If he annoys you too much, read to him from the bible, he can do with some salvation before meeting his maker."

"Rot in hell, Norrington, you bastard!" Friday yelled behind him, but he did not turn around again.

"Thank you. I take it as a compliment to be a bastard in _your_ book."

And thus he marched over to the cells containing Stansfield and his men and if possible, his disgust still increased. Friday was merely insane; his scathing remarks didn't really disturb the Commodore's anthropology. As for Stansfield –

The man sat quite as his ease in his cell. His men surrounding him had the decency to look ashamed and avoided catching the Commodore's gaze, but not Stansfield. He calmly got up and ambled to the bars, against which he leant with one shoulder.

"Well, Jimmy boy, I'd say the game is up, don't you think?" he said with a shrug and a smirk.

And that was, in essence, all he had to offer. There was no explanation, no defence, no regret, no remorse, no nothing in this man. He had played for high stakes and he had lost the gamble. That was all, as far as he was concerned. And in a way, this was much harder to swallow than any of the atrocities Friday had so readily admitted.

His Second Lieutenant, perhaps out of repentance but more likely trying to bargain for something better than the death penalty, offered his testimony, which yielded some more insight into Stansfield's 'game'.

In exchange for being taken to another cell, Lieutenant Harper volunteered how his Captain had goaded Friday's vanity so this one would go after the Dauntless in order to deal with her commander once and for all, wanting to increase his sphere of influence and hoping to see Lieutenant Gillette as Commodore Norrington's successor as the head of Fort Charles and himself as the next Commodore. Being foiled in this plan by James' unexpected survival, he then had had visited the heavily injured daily, hoping to get a chance to press a cushion on the unconscious man's face and nearly succeeding once, if it hadn't been for Miss Swann's constant unintentional vigilance. He hadn't so readily given up though and continued his visits in the van Dykes' house, but James had never been quite helpless enough and he had known he mustn't raise the slightest suspicion against himself. The Admiral had come and left and by then Stansfield had become acquainted with his opponent well enough to understand that he posed a far greater problem than so far assumed. Not only would the Commodore never stoop to let himself be corrupted, no, he was also determined to stamp out corruption in the ranks of the Navy as such and thus turned from a simple nuisance to a real threat. To crown it all, he had set his heart on getting Friday, and that, Stansfield had known, must never ever happen. So he had tried to rig the match by carefully staging the confrontation he could not really prevent on the long run, aware the odds weren't in his favour but forced to risk it all the same.


	20. Premature

**Premature**

* * *

 _A grateful mind by owing owes not, but still pays, at once indebted and discharg'd._

 _JOHN MILTON_

* * *

As earnest and keen as Elizabeth was on her newly-found mission to be a good person, she didn't spend all her days so selflessly. Her morning might be busy with charitable deeds, most of the afternoons however, she kept to her room, sitting by the window and scanning the horizon for some mast to appear, claiming to be unwell and not even lying – she _did_ feel exceedingly unfit for anybody's company. Not even Will was admitted to see her then.

Despite her knowledge that neither of the ships could come back so soon, she had constantly prayed for their speedy return, and one early afternoon, sooner than she had dared to hope, she eventually saw the Falcon sail into the harbour, followed by the Black Pearl and the Halcyon – but not the Challenger!

Where was the Challenger? There could be only one possible reason for the absence of the Challenger! Her heart sank to her boots and her body to the floor in a dead faint; she only woke up after Sarah had found and revived her and put her into her bed at once. Elizabeth did not resist; she scarcely had the strength to go on breathing.

The Challenger was lost, she _knew_ it, James would never come back! She wept, she sobbed, she cried her eyes out, and whenever she thought of the ghoulish stories about Friday and _how_ James must have died, it got even worse.

Helpless, Sarah rushed to fetch the Governor, but he had gone out; as soon spotting the ships, he had hastened down to the harbour to meet them. He, too, was alarmed not to see the Challenger, but unlike his daughter he hadn't automatically assumed the worst; being one of nature's optimists, he hoped that it was only the _ship_ that was lost, not necessarily the crew, and he lost no time to make sure about it.

His hopefulness was soon vindicated. He learnt that the Challenger _was_ safe, the Commodore in Nassau to hand over the prisoners and about to return home as soon as possible. Governor Swann hadn't felt so relieved in a long time and followed the sailors to the fort to hear more of what had happened and invited the officers to come up to his house in the evening to celebrate such happy news. The invitation even included some members of the crew of the Black Pearl, which was most extraordinary for the Governor indeed, but his high spirits put any other reservation out of his mind.

His serenity cracked however when coming home again and learning from Elizabeth's maid how ill his daughter seemed to be. He found her silently weeping, her cheeks glistening and her hands folded in prayer; she didn't even acknowledge she noticed his coming.

"Darling," he cried, "what is it? Are you in pain?"

She did not look at him, murmuring something that he couldn't hear, and he asked again, "Sarah told me she found you unconscious – did you hurt yourself? Are you ill? Oh Lord, you caught a disease! Oh dear –"

She briefly interrupted her prayers to say "I'm not ill, Papa," then went straight on.

"But what is it?"

"It's all my fault, all mine, and the Lord makes me suffer for my sins now…"

She _had_ fallen on her head, or caught some dreadful illness in that wretched hospital; he was awfully alarmed and on the verge of calling for Dr. Jennings , but asked once more in his most coaxing voice, "What is your fault, darling?"

"Everything!" she cried, starting to sob again. "He's dead, and it's _my_ fault!"

The Governor frowned. "Who is dead?"

He received a withering scowl in return for this question. "How can you even ask?! James is dead! I've lost him, I've doomed him, I've killed him –"

"Elizabeth! Darling! Calm yourself! Listen to me – the Commodore isn't dead! Why do you think he was dead? _Oh!_ I see –"

She couldn't stop crying at once, she was too agitated for that, but she had understood. The wave of relief and gratification now engulfing her wasn't less violent than her previous anguish, and the poor Governor had to witness his child getting the next sobbing fit. He was at a total loss to understand her, but this wasn't news to him.

"My dearest Elizabeth, are you crying because the Commodore has _survived_...?"

"Of course not!" she coughed between two sobs. "He's alive! Praise the Lord! But where _is_ he?! Ask him to come, Papa, please, ask him to come up _at_ _once_!"

"I'd do whatever you wish, darling, but I'm afraid I can't call for the Commodore. He has sailed to Nassau –"

"Nassau?!"

He sat down next to her and told her everything he knew, glad that she calmed down more and more and eager to keep it like that. He realised his mistake as soon as mentioning the Commodore's injuries for she gave a muffled scream.

"No, no, my darling, I _assure_ you he's alright! Lieutenant Groves gave me his word that he's fine, and you know how fond is of the Commodore –"

"But he still let him sail to Nassau!" She pouted. "Sail to Nassau, all on his own, after being so badly injured!"

"But he _wasn't_ that badly injured –"

"What if the wounds look alright now, but become infected after all!"

He knew from experience that it was useless to argue with her and changed the topic. "Lest I forget – your friend Captain Sparrow will come for supper and a little party afterwards. I thought you might like that?"

And although she didn't answer, she did like it very well. As soon as her father was gone again, she clambered out of her bed and fell on her knees in front of the cross to pray and praise the Lord and thank Him for holding His hand over James and for making Jack act like the good person she knew him to be, if he liked it or not. He _had_ gone for the Challenger, he _had_ saved them – she had _not_ been mistaken! As ill as her judgement of human nature surely was (she squirmed recollecting her fondness for Captain Stansfield) at least she hadn't erred in _this_ respect. Perhaps she was not entirely hopeless after all.

Sarah helped her to restore herself, and when they welcomed their guests in the evening, only little betrayed her earlier state. Her eyes were still red-rimmed and her nose pink from crying, but it would take a close observer to notice that over her overall expression of felicity itself.

Their guests were a motley crew that night. None of the town's dignitaries was present, for example, who could be counted on to feel slighted and make the most of being snubbed. Another person conspicuously missing was Elizabeth's fiancé, even though for once he would even have been invited if only someone had told him that. Elizabeth, far too stirred still to be useful, hadn't partaken in any of the arrangements and naturally assumed that her father was taking care of everything. The Governor on the other hand, not in the habit of organising anything, let alone a party, had not even thought of inviting the town's aldermen, and if at some point young Mr. Turner had crossed his mind, he had of course been sure that his daughter was losing no time to invite him personally. Alas, now it was too late.

Who was present were, for a start, a dozen officers, among them Lieutenant Groves, who apparently couldn't make up his mind whether he should smile at the hostess in gratitude or scowl at her as usual. Then there were Reverend Martin and his wife, who had been invited days ago to dine with the Governor before anybody had thought of giving a party, and were slightly bemused to have accidentally walked into one. And then there was Captain Jack Sparrow, accompanied by Anamaria and Mr. Gibbs, at whom the Governor could only stare. Yes, he had personally invited them, yes, yes, nevertheless their whole appearance was disturbing with only the woman passing as decent. Unlike Mr. Gibbs or Sparrow, she had put some effort into dressing up for the event; she wore a green dress, plain and not comparable to Elizabeth's robes, but neat and clean nevertheless. Her two companions on the other hand made for the most bizarre sight in the Governor's pompous parlour, ragged and dirty as they were, and more gold flashing in the Captain's mouth than Elizabeth wore for jewellery. He strongly suspected that they hadn't taken a bath in _years_.

Ignoring all rules of propriety and to her father's embarrassment, his daughter fiercely hugged the pirate captain and the woman when they came in, she giddily embraced even Mr. Gibbs for shooting at Friday before he could blow up James and the whole ship. In the end the old sailor was forced to ask her to stop.

With great interest, she listened to their account of the battle, with repelled curiosity she heard Lieutenant Groves' report – abridged for the present ladies' sake – of Friday's testimony, not daring to interrupt either. They had finished supper when she finally had a chance to get a word in.

"Jack, I _knew_ you wouldn't let me – let _them_ down. But why did you torment me like that? When you left, I believed you gave a damn! If I had only known that you would help them –"

"Oh, when I left here, I _was_ serious, luv." He grinned widely. "On second thought I found your promise could come in very handy though."

"My promise?"

"You said I could ask for just anything – Mr. Gibbs, is that what Miss Swann said or is it not?"

Mr. Gibbs nodded but did not dare to meet Elizabeth's eyes.

"Oh, yes! So, what is it that you want?" she asked a little less enthusiastic; had she really meant Jack would do something for the mere goodness of his heart?

"I had a long conversation with the good Commodore about that," he went on, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "After all, you said you'd make your father pay any sum of money –" The Governor froze dead when overhearing this, but Jack went on regardless, "So I asked the Commodore to estimate how much money I could demand, but he would not hear of it. Told me you were a bit – what did he say, Anamaria?"

"Impulsive," she replied with the same amused expression that he was displaying. "He said Miss Swann was a bit impulsive and you could impossibly take her for her word."

"Yes, that's what he said. He then offered me to take on the obligation – he's _bad_ in negotiating, doesn't know a thing about it, that chap! Man of honour, but not a clue about money. He offered me fifteen thousand pounds at once, and did not bat an eyelid when I asked for more. He even volunteered his entire inheritance."

" _What?!_ "

"Don't worry, darling, I've not yet finished. I figured his money wouldn't fully satisfy me. Worked all of his life for it, and as you keep on saying, he's a good man. But there _is_ something else that he can do for me, because – believe it or not – I want an amnesty."

"An amnesty," she repeated, dumbfounded but slightly reassured that Jack wasn't about to ruin James.

"Indeed, an amnesty. I thought I could become respectable, too – of course, I'll never be only half as respectable as our dear Commodore, but half of his holier than thou attitude ought to suffice for us common mortals. At first I thought our good Governor here could get me one, or the Commodore himself perhaps. But Mr. Gibbs explained to me _at_ _length_ all the legal intricacies, so now I know that only the king himself – or Admiral Thompson – can give me what I want. And who has the Admiral's ear if not our darling Commodore? Though I hope that he's better at brokering my future than when he's giving away his money."

"But – but – you're a _pirate_ , Jack! What about the Black Pearl means freedom and all that?"

"I don't mean to give that up, darling."

"But then it's useless to ask the Admiral for an amnesty, isn't it?"

"Oh, you don't get it. I intend to become a righteous privateer. I've figured that a privateer does pretty much the same like a pirate, but without risk to end on the gallows."

Elizabeth burst out laughing. "Of course, it's just another branch in the trade."

"Exactly, love, I knew you'd understand. Your friend the Commodore needed some more persuasion."

"Because he's a sensible man. I'm foolish enough to know you're daft."

"Talking about our mutual friends, darling – where is the whelp?"

"He couldn't make it tonight," she lied wretchedly.

"Oh yes, I heard you were engaged, Miss Swann," Anamaria said kindly; Jack was genuinely amazed how civil his sweetheart could be if only she wanted; not for a second would he believe her standard lack of politeness could have anything to do with _him_. "Please let me congratulate you."

"Thank you. But please, don't call me Miss Swann. I'm simply Elizabeth."

"So, when are you going to marry?"

"I don't know… In five years, perhaps?"

"Five _years_? That's a hell of a long time!"

"Oh well… It'll pass, and maybe – maybe it's good like that, don't you think?"

It was written all over Anamaria's doubtful face that she did _not_ think so, and Jack chuckled roguishly. "Enough time at any rate to make up her mind. You must know, love, dear Elizabeth _likes_ to change her mind –"

'Dear Elizabeth' turned pink; there was no way to defy the comment, so she merely muttered, "I've sworn to better myself, Jack. Give it a rest."

"It's not bad to change one's mind when one realises that one was wrong," he retorted with his forefinger raised and gesticulating, "Sign of the grown-up mind it is."

"You must be very grown up then, Jack," Anamaria sniggered. "Now keep your tongue when two ladies are talking."

"Ladies? I see no –"

"Finish that sentence and you'll be sorry."

He lost the staring contest with his wife and turned back to Elizabeth. "What's wrong, dear? Cat got your tongue?"

She opened her mouth and shut it, unable to come up with anything to say and Jack's last gibe ringing in her ears. Whenever she was reminded of that particular 'change of mind', she was just burning with guilt and shame and a strange feeling of suffocation.

Her father had come over, holding himself remarkably well considering his guests. He was not used to pirates in his house, and he did not mean to make a habit out of it. But for a start, Captain Sparrow had acted very decently in rescuing the Challenger, and then, if he was serious about becoming a privateer, he soon would be a pirate no more, right? Perhaps he might even wash himself now and again. Also, these were his guests and he prided himself to be a good host, so when noticing the sudden lag in conversation, he was ready to throw himself into the breach. "So you wish to turn a privateer, Captain Sparrow? How extraordinary!"

"You find? And I meant there were plenty of them."

"Well, yes, certainly. And regarding the latest developments with the French and the Spanish, there'll be need for many, many more."

"See, that's what _I_ thought, too. Jack, I thought to meself, wouldn't it be a nice thing for a change to rob a Spanish gold frigate and _not_ be sentenced to death for it?"

"It isn't about robbery, Captain, you'd serve the English Crown in doing so!" the Governor replied, consternated.

"And I shall enjoy doing so – but in my point of view, there's not much of a difference. Didn't I serve His Majesty each time I prevented a ship from taking her freight to Spain?"

"Well – one _could_ see it like that, I suppose..." Governor Swann wasn't a born rhetorician, and absolutely not accustomed to cheeky remarks from anyone but his daughter.

"You see, there will be some other changes in my life in the next time, and I could well do with a little more security."

He was still chuckling and exchanged a glance with the woman next to him. Elizabeth arched a brow. "Changes? What sort of changes?"

Jack positively beamed. "I'm becoming a father! And just imagine the bad effect on a child hearing that his daddy had been hanged."

Of course, everybody immediately congratulated the parents-to-be, and Elizabeth finally remembered what she had been carrying in her satchel for half of the evening.

She took Anamaria's hands and pressing them, gave her the earrings matching the golden cross the woman was wearing even now.

Anamaria refused to accept them but thanked her fulsomely for the necklace, which Elizabeth in turn wouldn't stand for.

"No, please, do not thank me! _I_ have to be grateful, you see? I wanted to give you the earrings then as well, but Jack was in a hurry, and I couldn't find them so quickly. But now I've found them, so – please regard them as a late wedding gift if you won't accept them as a token of gratitude."

"Honestly, Miss Swann –"

"Oh please, you must!" Elizabeth insisted fiercely. "They belong to the necklace anyway. And if you do not like them at all – keep them safe for little Jack and sell them in case his father's career as a privateer doesn't turn out a success."

"Well – thank you! I don't quite know what to say."

"Say nothing, my dear Anamaria. If it wasn't for you, I'd never be happy again, and what are some earrings compared to that!"

"A thought just occurred to me, Captain Sparrow," the Governor said with knitted brows. "What if the Commodore does not succeed in making the Admiral pardon you?"

"Oh, don't you worry for me, Governor. The Commodore is nothing if not a man of honour. He'll see me right."

Lieutenant Groves had sauntered over when everybody had congratulated the expecting mother and father, and now bit his lips not to sneer. "You really have a nerve, Captain," he grumbled.

"What? I'm just saying. I'm sure Commodore Norrington will do wonders with the Admiral."

"We will see how lenient the Admiral is going to be after learning about his protégé Stansfield. I for my part doubt that he'll be in a mood to grant clemency to anyone."

"And if he doesn't?!" asked Elizabeth hoarsely. She had an awful premonition.

Groves chuckled mirthlessly. "Then gold will do the trick instead."

"You're not implying the Admiral could be bought off, are you?" barked Governor Swann indignantly.

"Goodness, no. If the Admiral refuses, the Commodore will simply come back, grant the Black Pearl safe-conduct and hand them over his entire fortune plus all he's got coming to him in the next five to ten years."

" _What?!_ "

"That's the deal. The Commodore simply would not accept anything else. I told him that it's his entire future at stake, and he scolded me that he only has a future because of Captain Sparrow here."

Jack had closely observed Elizabeth throughout this exchange, and with a calculated smile addressed her now, "Darling, just figure how lucky you are! Who'd have figured that when choosing the whelp over the good Commodore, you were actually picking the much wealthier of the two?"

On some occasions, Elizabeth needed no corset to keel over, and so she did for the second time this day. Jack Sparrow and the Lieutenant caught her between them, and her father, fumbling with some smelling salts, mumbled something about her having been quite ill recently while the men carried her over to a sofa.

Jack exchanged a meaningful glance with his wife. "It's actually quite sweet, don't you think?" he muttered under his breath, and Anamaria shook her head at him, but for once in a good-humoured way.

"You've given the poor thing such a fright, Jack."

"Maybe it's enough to wake her up."

"Playing Cupid, are you? How sweet of you," she mocked.

"Hell, no. Just trying to get my ten quid back."


	21. Come Back

**Come Back**

* * *

 _Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords._

 _WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE  
_

* * *

The day of the Falcon's and the Halcyon's return had been hectic and busy; Lieutenant Groves still acting as head of the fort had to supervise all dealings and on top been forced to spend the evening in the Governor's house. He'd much rather have paid lovely Miss van Dyke a visit to tell her all that had happened, and most of all, to be the one to bring her the good tidings that the Commodore was alive and healthy. The next day, he could refrain no longer and headed over to her parents' house. She almost seemed to have waited for him, welcoming him warmly and leading him to the parlour.

"It's so good to see you!" She smiled warmly. "You can't imagine how worried I've been!"

"Very understandable, but I assure you, the Commodore is very well. He got over his injuries almost instantly."

She looked slightly puzzled. "Oh – that's splendid! I didn't even know he was injured… So what about you?"

"The Halcyon was too late for the battle; had it been only up to us to help, the Challenger might have been lost. You have Captain Sparrow to thank that it hasn't come like this."

"Captain Sparrow and the Lord, yes. Although I must say I'm almost glad that you were too late, as you say. I only heard some servants' gossip, but this Captain Friday is a dangerous man, is he not?"

"He is certainly. The Commodore was very lucky."

"Yes, he was, and isn't it even luckier that you haven't been there? Oh, I must not think of it!"

Now it was Groves who was astonished, and he could think of nothing better to say than, "I would have been glad to fight for my Commodore, Miss van Dyke."

"You are very fond of him, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, very much indeed. He's more than just a superior, he's– almost a friend, if I may be so bold to say so. But why do you ask me that?"

"Well," she chuckled, "because you talk about him so much."

He felt the heat rising to his face, "Do I? Oh – well, I thought you'd like to hear about him…"

"I do like to hear about the Challenger, yes, and the Commodore is a very good man, but – what makes you think I'd be particularly interested to hear about him?" She looked quizzically and straight to his eyes. He had to avert his gaze, incapable to find an instant answer.

"Uhm – you see – er… Just what people keep talking…"

"And what _are_ they talking, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, you know!"

"Apparently I do not. What do they say then?"

"Well, that you – and the Commodore – you know…" he murmured almost inaudibly, still avoiding to look at her.

She gave a bright laugh. "That's what they say, is it? The Commodore and me? But that's ridiculous!"

His eyes darted up, finding her utterly amused. "Ridiculous? No, I don't think so – why do you say that?"

"It's always like that with people's gossip – the last persons to hear about themselves are those in question! I severely doubt that Commodore would be happy to hear any such presumptions, and neither am I."

"I do understand your delicate sense of propriety, Miss –"

"I'm not speaking of _propriety_ , Lieutenant! I like Commodore Norrington very well, and I suppose he likes me too, but I assure you, that is _all_ there is to it! He's in love with Miss Swann, and I –"

She stopped and turned down her gaze, too, clearly agitated, possibly hurt; it grieved him to watch her like that. Darned Miss Swann, why was it always Miss Swann, Miss Swann, Miss Swann!

"Miss van Dyke, you can believe me, he'll forget Miss Swann soon enough. You needn't – you mustn't – aggravate yourself because of that –"

" _Aggravate_ myself? But sir – let me clarify some things!" She turned her look back on him, it was almost a glare. "You seem to be labouring under the _false_ impression that I had feelings for Commodore Norrington beyond mere friendship, which I wish to make clear I have not. I do have the highest regard for him, he is an entirely amiable man, and not too long ago, I would have declared firmly that this was enough to form a marriage upon. I was mistaken. The Commodore has _not_ captured my heart, and I daresay he has no intention to ever do so much as _try_ it. I'd be very unhappy if he did, for it would grieve me to cause such a good man any uneasiness by refusing him."

He goggled at her, at a total loss for words, finally managing to stammer, "You – don't – I see!"

"Did you believe those rumours as well?"

He couldn't bear to look at her and turned away; this was all a little much for him. On the one hand, he felt exceedingly uneasy with her revelation – he feared the Commodore to be disappointed _again_ , after Groves himself had talked him into the whole story! But on the other hand, his heart seemed to burst with joy – she did not love the Commodore! That meant nothing in respect of himself, naturally, but to think of her unattached to anybody was nevertheless –

" _Did_ you believe it, Lieutenant Groves?"

"Well, I must admit I did," he murmured, pretending sudden and strong interest in one of the portraits on the wall; he didn't know what else to do. He heard her chuckle, but it was no merry sound.

"I see… You are the Commodore's friend, and you wished to promote his happiness, yes. That's very good of you, and I'm sorry to disappoint your expectations in me."

He muttered some excuses and escaped as fast as he could. This was – he couldn't say himself. He was mostly angry with himself, for a whole variety of reasons. Foremost – _why_ hadn't he kept his mouth shut? Why had he ever introduced the topic to his friend? The Commodore had never thought of Miss van Dyke until _he_ had mentioned her! Mention – ha! He had almost talked him into fancying her, emphasising her qualities on every possible occasion! He had been ready to _swear_ that the lovely lady just _waited_ for a proposal! And now?

Almost as dreadful for his peace of mind was the notion that she was angry with him for his interference. The way she had looked at him when he had hurried away – she had been glad that he had left, without doubt. Terrible, most terrible! But what could he do to reconcile?

He did not dare to pay another visit, he didn't meet her accidentally either, and more than a week passed without seeing as much as a trace of her. He had hoped that her absence would at least calm him, but it didn't. He meant to see her everywhere, just to realise in the next moment that he had deceived himself. He was plain miserable.

The Challenger returned on the morning of Christmas Eve, and after the news of Captain Friday's defeat had spread like wildfire around town, many residents now ran down to the harbour to welcome the victorious crew. Not even the other soldiers could refrain from such enthusiasm, trying to run with a little more decorum perhaps, but run they did. Loud cheers resounded all around when the majestic ship slowly entered harbour as more and more people arrived to join the welcoming crowd. The Governor's carriage could not negotiate its way through the throngs of people, so both he and his thrilled daughter had to get out and continue by foot.

"Hurry up, Papa!"

On hand clutching his hat on his head, he breathlessly followed her, and if he had not been the Governor, the people might not have let him through.

Lieutenant Groves saw the Commodore's puzzled expression when descending the leeway, and he had scarcely touched solid grounds – the Lieutenant being far from welcoming him yet – when little Miss Swann was almost jumping at him already.

"James!" She yelped over the roaring applause. "I thought I should never see you again!"

Lieutenant Groves rolled his eyes, her father shut his with embarrassment, and the Commodore – well, he stared at her while she kissed his hand in great animation.

"Miss Swann!" He swallowed, stumped. "Miss Swann, how can I ever thank you for your – there are perhaps some hundred men on this ship owing their lives to you and I am one of them –"

Frantically, she shook her head. "No, no! Don't say that! I did but little, and the little I did I didn't think through – I may have ruined you – did I ruin you? I'll make my father give you my dowry for a start and –"

He had only a vague idea what she was talking about. "Ruin me? To the contrary –"

"So the Admiral did pardon Jack, yes?"

"I assure you, Captain Sparrow is safe."

She cast her eyes to the sky above. "Oh Lord, _thank you_ ," she groaned, pressing his hands once more and returning to look him straight in the eyes. "Now – your injuries! Are they very bad? How _are_ you? You must know you are always welcome in our house –"

"But believe me, I am fine, I've never been better –"

"You should see Dr. Jennings nevertheless! One can never know! Oh James, I cannot tell you how –"

"Elizabeth, darling," the Governor coughed delicately and tried to pull her away. "Allow the Commodore to fully arrive before you monopolise him entirely!"

She blushed, James smiled wryly, Groves shook his head. This girl! He smartly saluted to his superior, and pretty much in order, they would have headed for the fort if it hadn't been for the jubilant crowds around them. It was incredible how many inhabitants Port Royal had, if one thought about it. There seemed to be roughly six thousand people gathered on the docks altogether hailing the glorious victors.

"What _is_ this?" the Commodore asked under his breath. "What do all those people _want_ here?"

"Don't blame me, sir. By now, every child tells the story of your defeat of Captain Friday," Groves answered just as quietly.

"But I _didn't_ defeat Friday!"

"Yes, you did, sir."

"No, I didn't. If it hadn't been for the Black Pearl arriving and Mr. Gibbs –"

"You fought him and you beat him, sir. That's all the people care for. Leave them their fun, I say."

"And _I_ say this is embarrassing!"

"But they won't stop anyway. You can set up a bulletin later." Groves grinned; he found it right that crew and Captain were honoured. They had won a hundred battles without further acknowledgement, if they were praised now for one they hadn't won on a sheer technicality, it was just as well.

Closely behind them, the Governor walked next to his daughter, who was terribly excited and fidgety.

"My dear, please calm yourself."

"Hm?"

"I said you ought to calm down, dear!"

"Beg your pardon, father, what did you say?"

He groaned, but she didn't listen anyway. Her eyes were fixed on the tall figure before her; her heart was throbbing with bliss. He was alive, he was here, he at least promised he was all right – she closely observed him, spying for any possible trace of an injury, but he walked just as straight and dignified as always. She would have to take a close look at his face again to make really sure!

She had always tried to stay away from the consultations between the head of the fort (which the Commodore was once more; the Admiral had him instantly reinstated) and the Governor. Normally, these meetings were lethally boring. Nothing ever really happened, and _if_ something interesting had happened, she had usually been denied to attend. Today, no power of persuasion or her father's soft urgings could drive Miss Swann away. She had heard the story a dozen times, but she wanted to hear it once more from James himself, and doing so, she'd watch out whether he was _truly_ well, and if not –

The Commodore wasn't oblivious of her close surveillance – quite the opposite – and it thoroughly unnerved him. He tried to look anywhere but at her, anxious not to meet her gaze. After a half an hour, he was almost ready to believe that something must indeed be wrong with him. And even being perfectly fine (he was, despite everything, still rather sure he was), if she went on like that, he'd soon be so no more. He'd rather have another fight with Captain Friday than standing up to Elizabeth's inquisitive glances, they were unsettling him so much more.

"What about your new ship, Commodore?" the Governor asked sweetly. "Is she as good as the Dauntless?"

Ah, the ship! A safe matter; Elizabeth could impossibly read any injury out of _that_ topic! "She certainly is, sir. She withstood the attacks of four ships without too severe damage, nothing that couldn't be mended. We could do most right after the battle and the rest was done in Nassau. Yes, the Challenger is after all a very proper successor for the Dauntless."

"I'm glad to hear it." Governor Swann smiled, satisfied with the reply. His daughter however was not; she had grown to strongly dislike the Challenger, she could not say why, and found it unsuitable to do as much as _compare_ her to the Dauntless, let alone hear her being praised. How could James say she was a proper replacement?!

"Speaking of Nassau –how did it go?"

"More or less as expected. The Admiral was of course furious. Captain Stansfield was one of his favourites, he personally advanced his career, you know. I think he would have liked to throttle him with his bare hands, given half a chance. But being of a mercurial temper, he just as quickly calmed down again, and seemed greatly amused even by Captain Sparrow's request. He granted it without further ado – in fact, he seemed quite pleased by the idea to have the Black Pearl badgering the Spanish and the French and have her out of _our_ hair."

He smiled with the recollection of Thompson's reaction, which was in its wording unrepeatable with a lady present. Had he looked at Elizabeth while speaking, he would have seen her glow with relief; she had never liked the Admiral and even less trusted his judgement. She had been almost sure that James would see himself obliged to give every pound he possessed to Jack due to her unguarded promise, and she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself for it. However, he did not look, and neither did her father who beamed now.

"Excellent! But what about Friday?"

"He was tried and hanged directly the next day."

"Very good – and Captain Stansfield?"

"He was hanged right next to Friday."

"And that's still too good for him!" Elizabeth hissed.

James shot her a swift glance of surprise at her vehemence, and felt quite overpowered by the sight of her gleaming eyes.

"As far as I can see, most of Friday's crew and all of Stansfield's will share their captains' fates. I do hope though that a few of his men – I say men, in fact they're mere boys of fifteen, seventeen and eighteen – may be pardoned after all. They had been deckhands on the last ship Friday has preyed on and were so deadly afraid that they followed him. But even their own comrades swore that neither of them ever committed any crime other than joining Friday's crew, and I hope the jury can be persuaded to spare them."

"You wish to pardon some pirates?" Elizabeth asked amiably, and being thus addressed, he couldn't help it but look over to her, finding her smiling fondly.

He shot her a swift smile in return, then quickly looked away again. Good heavens, she was more beautiful today than he had even remembered her. There was an animation in her features as he had rarely noticed before, and intensity in her gaze shaking him in his foundations – he simply couldn't bear it.

"I certainly do, but it's neither my place nor in my power. I'm happy to let a jury decide," he replied with strained cool.

"In all this I notice that you have an excellent insight into human nature, Commodore. Unlike the Admiral did with Stansfield, _you_ never quite trusted Lieutenant Gillette," the Governor remarked shrewdly.

Sadly, James shook his head. "I don't deserve that praise, sir. It might never have come to all this – at least the Lieutenant's involvement – if I had been kinder to him."

"Nonsense!" Elizabeth exclaimed hotly.

"At least I don't have him on my conscience," he proceeded hesitantly. "I presume you won't have heard this, I only learnt about it during the voyage to Nassau myself. He – Lieutenant Gillette – did not hang himself as we believed. Mr. Harper, Captain Stansfield's Second Lieutenant, hoping to bargain for something less than the sure death penalty, turned against him, you see, so we found out that the Captain... Well, it was he who killed his cousin when he thought he had become a threat. Apparently he knocked him out with a hit in the neck and hanged him then."

Elizabeth, once again thinking what kind of man she had wanted Marleen to marry, clasped her hands to her eyes.

"Miss Swann, are you unwell? I'm afraid you shouldn't have heard that – don't make yourself uneasy, please. He appears to have suffocated without regaining consciousness. He didn't suffer unduly –"

"What? Oh. Yes, I guess that's good..."

"Can I get you a glass of water? Do you wish to lie down? Shall I call the carriage for you?" he asked hopefully. She _had_ to go; he couldn't endure her worried gaze much longer. It felt like burning.

"No, no! I'm fine, really," she murmured weakly and tried to smile. "Or – yes, a glass of water might be good."

He was glad to have something to do that gave him a chance to conceal his face, and with much more caution than necessary, he poured a glass and handed it over to her. He could _feel_ that she was looking at him, but he looked only at her trembling fingers and made a small bow then.

"In case you change your mind, the guard will take you home instantly –"

"Thank you, but I really am fine."

The Governor gnarled, "So he killed his own cousin! Tah! What a fiend!"

"Neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible," Elizabeth quietly recited from memory.

She received some surprised looks from her father and Lieutenant Groves for this remark, but none looked as startled as the Commodore who actually recognised it for what it was.

She shrugged helplessly. "It's from a book you once read to me. I had to think of it just now..."

He could either stare at her all day or get one with his report. Only the latter option seemed feasible, so he proceeded as calmly as he could, but what was more, as quickly. He managed to avoid another glimpse at Elizabeth, but that didn't mean he wasn't acutely aware of her presence, and with his chest wound suddenly hurting like it never had before, he had to get rid of the girl before giving himself away. He didn't wish to alarm her.

Before the Governor left at last with his bewitching daughter, he invited both the Commodore and Lieutenant Groves to come to his house for supper in the evening. As obliging and kind as the old gentleman's invitation surely was, James shook his head quite firmly.

"Thank you very much for that gracious invitation, sir, but I'm afraid I can impossibly accept," he declared, still avoiding looking at Elizabeth. As much as he had longed to see her again, by no means would he manage to spend an entire evening in her company like this. It was all he could manage not to run away from her now. "I've got a lot to do after the journey and there are many things I have to talk to Lieutenant Groves about. None would suffer any delay."

Groves wondered what on earth the Commodore could be talking about, understanding that there was little truth in the claim – but he wasn't keen on another evening with the Swanns either and refrained from making a remark.

"What about tomorrow, then?" Elizabeth cried.

He shook his head once more. "I am very sorry, Miss Swann, but tomorrow is Christmas."

"Yes, I know!"

"I've got to spend Christmas with my men." It was the feeblest excuse he could have come up with; after all, he had spent Christmas for the last eight years with the Governor and his daughter, so before the girl could remark on the inconsistency, he hastened to add, "This year in particular we have a lot to be thankful for – many comrades to mourn – I couldn't possibly absent myself."

"But then you _must_ come to dine with us the day after tomorrow!"

He was running out of plausible excuses, and two days should suffice to get a grip on himself, shouldn't they? "Yes, thank you very much. The day after tomorrow would be just splendid."

"Fantastic! I'll have your word for that, James – Commodore Norrington, I mean."

Her father gave a little start with her address and gently pushed her out of the office, bidding the officers goodbye. Only when he had shut the door, the Commodore exhaled from the depth of his heart, hearing the Lieutenant softly snigger.

"So what is it that you have to talk to me about that is so terribly urgent and suffers no delay? The Christmas menu?"

He shrugged vaguely. "I don't feel too well, and Miss Swann would make a big thing out of it if I told her, that's all –"

" _That_ girl blows everything out of proportion!"

"My crew and I owe our lives to her insistence; had the Black Pearl not arrived in time, we'd all be dead, Groves. So please, for the last time – leave her alone! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry." He bit his lip and mused for some moments before speaking again. "Sir," he said tentatively, "could I ask you something very personal?"

"Out with it, Groves! Unless you're abusing Miss Swann, I always appreciate your frankness, you know that."

"Am I entirely mistaken to presume that you still harbour some – well, feelings for Miss Swann then...?"

The Commodore sighed and closed his eyes, murmuring at last, "Is it really that obvious? And _please_ spare me your sermon now, will you?"

"Oh no, I wasn't about to – that's good, I guess –"

James shot him a surprised look, and the young man went on hesitantly, "I must make the most awkward confession to you, sir... Erm… You may remember our – uhm – discussion of – of Miss van Dyke – do you?"

He couldn't but laugh. "Oh yes, surely! You want me to marry the lady."

"Do you still have any – intention of proposing to her then?"

"I've never had one to begin with. _You_ wanted me to ask her, have you forgotten?"

"No, not at all. However, I'm very glad to hear that! Excuse me once again to intrude in your private affairs."

James grinned despite himself. "So why did you ask then? What _confession_ is in such a question?"

"Oh, well – you see – I happened to talk to Miss van Dyke lately and – and –"

" _And_ …?"

"She sort of mentioned – how shall I put it – well, it turned out that I had been mistaken concerning her possible attachment to you…"

Groves vowed inwardly to undertake ten night-shifts if he could only get through with this as quickly as possible. But his superior laughed heartily, indeed, he was shaking with laughter now.

"How lucky that I didn't listen to you then, isn't it? Honestly, I don't know how I would have taken another refusal after all."

"Yes, don't listen to me by any rate, sir! I obviously have not the slightest idea about these things. I'm a simple sailor, I lack every talent in deciphering young ladies' conduct…"

"Well, I can only hope you've learnt that lesson. But tell me, I'm curious – how did that – _conversation_ – come about? Did she mention in passing that I was the last man on earth that she considered to marry?"

He thought he had a very clear idea what sort of consultation Groves had had with the fair lady; he had suspected this for some time now, but he had been mistaken, too. The Lieutenant roughly sketched the contents of his last conversation with Miss van Dyke, and James was torn between pity and sheer amusement.

"My dear Groves," he said in the end, "can _I_ ask you something very personal in return? Have you ever contemplated, however swiftly, _why on earth_ you should care so much whom Miss van Dyke is going to marry?"

The officer blushed fiercely. "I was concerned for your well-being after – the disaster –"

"That's nice, thank you very much, but all the same. Are you truly telling me – or yourself for that matter – that you only spent so much time with Miss van Dyke because of _me_?!"

"Well, yes –"

"And it did not occur to you for a single moment that _you_ could have more feelings for the lady than I? No? Nothing?"

Poor Groves gave the distinct impression that he was ready to sink in any hole in the ground that had the grace to pop up there. "Sir – do not mistake me – I –do have a very high regard for Miss van Dyke, how could I not? I mean, she's an angel, isn't she? But when I first suggested her to you, I hadn't quite realised that yet…"

"My poor, poor Robert! Playing Cupid for a girl you're in love with yourself? That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard!"

Deeply red in the face and staring at his feet, the Lieutenant murmured, "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It doesn't _matter_?"

"Miss van Dyke is a _lady_ , sir!"

"Yes, I've noticed. So?"

"I could impossibly – _never_ – do as much as _think_ of – well – you know..."

"Obviously you cannot speak about it either," James commented drily, shaking his head at the younger man, who was usually so self-assured, so confident.

"But sir," Groves whimpered, "You don't understand! If she doesn't want to marry _you_ , how could _I_ even..."

This remark flattened even the Commodore's wits, and he goggled at him, dumbfounded. "What's the one thing got to do with the other?"

"Sir, _look_ at it! You're the Commodore of the South Eastern Navy, you're famous, you're rich and the son of a peer. If she was ready to refuse _you_ , a man like me could never ask her!"

James took a deep breath before answering, "For a start, Groves – it's a very bad prerequisite to believe that only a woman who would want to marry _me_ could be asked to marry _you_ instead. By no means – listen to me, I'm very serious! – by _no_ _means_ should you choose a wife who would want to marry somebody else but you. Trust me, I have some very painful experiences in this sector! And as we're already speaking of said experience anyway – did you notice that with all my alleged merits and riches, Miss Swann _still_ prefers to accept a poor blacksmith instead? Did you never get the notion that merits and money have nothing to do with it?"

The poor man was speechless; no, he indeed had never given that any thought. Miss Swann was barmy, that was all, otherwise she _would_ have accepted the Commodore!

"But sir," he began anew after a while, "I'm nothing but a farmer's son. I could never be so bold and woe a true lady…"

"Nonsense! You may well be a farmer's son, but now you are the First Lieutenant on one of Great Britain's most famous flagships, and it was only your own powers which have brought you so far! No father's money has bought _you_ commissions, no relations have advanced you anywhere! Talking about merits, are we? You began as a _seaman_ when I first met you, ten years ago! _I've_ never laboured on deck, _my_ father made sure that his son would start as an officer straight away! Comparing your career and mine, you cannot overlook the fact that you've come further than me in less time, and only by your own talents. And if that isn't enough to convince you, let me be so indiscreet and hint that Admiral Thompson is bound to make you a Captain sometime next year, the Falcon will be yours then, and you will make a fortune of your own."

Groves let his shoulders hang in utter dejection. "No matter how rosy you colour me now, she doesn't want me."

James was truly annoyed, he couldn't say himself why. "How can you be so sure of that? You've never asked her, clearly, you don't even seem to have a very good perception of her preferences, or you wouldn't have wanted _me_ to propose to her! Isn't it far more likely that the little lady might have been as irritated as you've described her because she was _disappointed_?"

"I was as civil as I could be –"

"In case she really liked you, she might have found it no exact civility to understand that during all your visits and consultations and whatever – that you've never had anything else in mind than act the postillion d'amour for somebody else."

The good Lieutenant left not long after this, so thoroughly confused that he hardly knew himself what he was going to do next. His friend was left behind wondering whether he had blessed or cursed the young man – but wasn't it always better to know for certain? If he had never asked Elizabeth, he would always have been forced to live with the lingering suspicions that it might have made a difference.

* * *

Neither man nor angel can discern Hypocrisy... Milton


	22. Know Thyself

**Know Thyself**

* * *

 _But wisdom, awful wisdom! which inspects, discerns, compares, weighs, separates, infers, seizes the right, and holds it to the last._

 _EDWARD YOUNG_

* * *

On Christmas morning, Elizabeth accompanied her father to church. In all that time, she still hadn't accustomed to the climate at this time of year; – she faintly remembered snowy hills, blistering cold, sleigh rides and the Christmas trees of her childhood in England. In the Caribbean on the other hand you couldn't get a silver fir for neither love nor money and snowflakes, for born natives, were as unreal stuff of mere legend as fairies and Santa Claus. The only thing that had remained from the rites she had enjoyed so much as a child was the service on Christmas morning.

Reverend Martin was no born preacher. His sermons tended to be on the very long side, and erudite in a way that didn't catch anybody's but the most devoted scholar's interest. Consequently, she had never paid them any attention, but this year she was determined to listen for once. Being so good to her in the past weeks without once preaching at her, she thought he had earned the right of her undivided attention.

The morning had brought her the most generous gift her father could have given her, and she was still so stunned she couldn't even feel as happy as she knew she ought to be. Because the Governor, confronted with his disastrous error of judgment, had decided it was about time for a spot of nepotism to make up. He was going to introduce his future son-in-law to the civil service, hoping the boy would advance himself far enough in the next one and a half years when he would finally be of age, to be made the head of administration of Port Royal by then.

This meant that she could marry Will in eighteen month – once she had overcome his sure remonstrance, of course. She knew it wouldn't sit well with him not to be the artisan of his own fortune. All the same she should have danced with joy, but perhaps it was because she was actually _overwhelmed_ with so much of it that dancing was out of question; maybe she had to get used to the idea before being capable to fully comprehend the extent of both the gift and its implications. After the service she was going to tell Will and see what _he_ thought. She half hoped that his reaction would match hers.

The Governor was plainly astonished by his daughter's reaction – he had expected her to be out of herself with happiness. Realising what catastrophe he had unwittingly planned for his child, he had finally resigned himself to her marriage to the boy. Had he truly wanted to detach her from a decent and good-hearted man for the sake of a scoundrel in disguise? If nothing else, this was enough to convince even Governor Swann that his interference wasn't only useless but downright dangerous. He had seen how fretful she had been in the last months, and it had been his genuine wish to relieve her of some of her sorrows at least by enabling her and her suitor to be united as soon as possible. Perhaps Will Turner was only a craftsman, but at least they would be able to live adequately on her money, and he did not doubt that the boy would do everything to show himself worthy of her nevertheless.

They both sat down in their usual pew, and Elizabeth was partly delighted, partly uneasy to spot the Commodore at his usual place directly opposite of her. Further down the aisle she saw Will; he waved at her, and she nearly would have returned the gesture, but recollecting where she was, she merely smiled. Then the service began and she somehow forgot about him. Instead, despite her solemn resolution to listen to the Reverend for once, her mind trailed off at the very first junction as she was wondering if it had caused much devastation among the ancient sailors when the Bethlehem star had appeared in the night skies – she ought to ask James about it. Surely he would know.

Looking over to him, she found him listening closely to the sermon and feeling an instant pang of guilt, she was determined to make good on her resolutions and be more attentive from now on.

"The incarnation of Jesus Christ was the ultimate sign of God's love for his church and his charity for mankind," Reverend Martin solemnly intoned, "that we celebrate each year on our Lord's birthday. As Thomas Aquinas found, charity is the friendship of man for God which unites us to Him. It is the most excellent of all virtues and the habit of charity extends not only to the love of God, but also to the love of our neighbour."

At that mention Elizabeth's gaze was involuntarily drawn towards Marleen in the pew next to their own. She looked remarkably well this morning – in fact, she had never looked better. The noble paleness of her porcelain complexion had given way to a soft rosy shimmer, her light blue eyes were glowing even brighter – Elizabeth didn't know whether to admire her beauty or envy her. The idea pained her – _envy_ Marleen? She had considered her to be her best friend for many years now, so how come – speaking of charity! – that her thoughts now were so thoroughly uncharitable?

Marleen looked up in this moment and Elizabeth hurried to observe her own hands.

"The Lord has shown us the meaning of love, of all different kinds of love," Reverend Martin boomed and again Elizabeth resolved to finally _listen_. "Love is the greatest of our Lord's mysteries for there are as many different ways to love as there are human beings strolling upon His earth, and only He can know them all. We all know the parents' love for their children and the child's love for them. There is the love among friends, among brothers and sisters, the love between man and woman – just think of all the different _words_ we've found to describe it! There's love, affection, attachment, care, our French brethren say l'amour, the Spanish say amore, the Dutch name it liefde..."

Elizabeth's eyes had trailed back to Marleen when the Reverend had spoken about the love between friends and had seen her smile to herself, and for some seconds Elizabeth had wondered whether Marleen, too, was thinking of her in this moment. But when the priest referred to the 'love between man and woman', Marleen _did_ look up, literally beaming and shooting somebody a delighted smile, and with the most terrible premonitions, Elizabeth followed her friend's gaze, finding her worst fears confirmed at once. She could see nothing else but James; he was looking into Marleen's direction from the corner of his eyes, a gentle smirk playing around his lips.

Witnessing this silent proof of agreement, a heavy iron load dropped on Elizabeth, and it got only worse when noticing the Lieutenant, who sat next to James, reaching out for that one's hand and pressing it briefly. It was all she could do to suppress the sudden urge to throw up and the rest of the ceremony passed her by in a haze without leaving any impression at all. She didn't even notice when it was over. Her father touched her arm and asked quietly, "My darling, is something the matter? You're so pale!"

She goggled at him, unable to speak – she hadn't heard his question in the first place.

"Oh dear, you're quite overwrought. Let me take you home this instant."

She had forgotten that she had meant to talk to Will after the service, but even if she had not, she would have been incapable of uttering a single useful word. The carriage took them home with the Governor fussing over his clearly sick child, wondering whether something she had eaten for breakfast did not agree with her.

He insisted that she lay down, and she didn't squabble with him about it. As she was, shoes and all, she dropped down on her bed and stared at the canopy. She felt dizzy and her head was spinning; she couldn't grasp any rational thought at all. Sarah came to look after her, but she sent her away at once, sharply. Next her father dropped in and fared scarcely better.

She declined to have lunch, but dragged herself up to the armchair by the window instead, gazing down at the fort and the harbour. She felt like crying but couldn't for the life of her say why.

Yes, the last time had been troublesome. The entire past half year had been nothing but worries and disappointment and sheer terror. She checked herself. The last half year had also brought forth her engagement to Will – but that was no consolation whatsoever, the way she was feeling now. Perhaps now, when the bulk of her anxieties was over – with James back safely at home and Jack not in lethal peril from the local hangman anymore and even her wedding no longer an event of the distant future – perhaps now the strain was catching up with her after all? Perhaps it had simply all been too much?

Recalling her strong reaction to seeing Marleen this morning, she wondered if it was the end of their friendship that drained her so. Yes, she suffered from not talking to her former best friend for so long – but reconciliation was also out of the question.

She had _seen_ that confidential glance between her and James, and it pained her beyond belief. James _mustn't_ marry Marleen, it was evil itself! She knew that she was unjust against her old friend; basically, Marleen had many good qualities, there could be no real doubt about it but… No, she still wasn't good enough for him. She was so cool, so heartless – she'd do him no good!

But then– what woman would _ever_ be good enough for James? What woman could match such excellence, such generosity, such pure superiority of sense and conduct? He wasn't simply, like Marleen had said so often, a 'smart match' – such a term did him utter injustice, and it was agony to think that any woman regarding him only as a 'smart match' should become his wife! He deserved nothing but the deepest love and devotion!

When there were different kinds of love, which was pretty much the only thing she could remember from Reverend Martin's sermon – wasn't it right to ask that only those people who matched in theirs should marry? Marleen had so often declared that she could have respect and regard for a man, but surely not more. But James was capable of so much more. He _had_ loved herself once, hadn't he? Hadn't she seen it in his eyes, when he had looked at her? Hadn't all these little gestures and big sacrifices proven it? Although she had been tied to him by honour, he had given her free because he, being so much wiser than she, had known about these different kinds of love. Oh James, dearest, sweetest, best of all men!

She froze with that notion. He _was_ exactly that. A _fine_ man, as she had so often told herself, the finest. There couldn't possibly be a better man than he. But what about Will? Wasn't _he_ supposed to be the best of all men? At least in her eyes? After all, she was about to marry him! She'd broken James' heart because of him!

Will, too, was very sweet and very dear, a thoroughly good person indeed – but ( _but_?!) – comparing him to James...

She felt very faint, she felt like suffocating, at the same time struck by deep and utter horror and a strange sensation of elation, conjuring up the image of her erstwhile fiancé before her inner eye. How he had looked at her that day on the Dauntless – that timid smile – those green, glowing eyes – their expression of infinite hurt when she had abandoned him – oh dear God, what had she done!

Oh, James! She had lost him, she knew, and she got no one to blame but herself. _James!_ She had pushed him away! How could she have pushed _him_ away?! The very epitome of manly perfection, whose affection she had once been lucky enough to awaken – and why had she deserted him? For the sake of a dear, sweet boy with languishing brown eyes whom she had fancied herself to be in love with ever since she was fifteen or so. No, not fancied herself – she had been in love with him, in a way. What was it Jack had said? About all those women he had met during his journeys, and how had deemed himself in love with any of them until he'd met Anamaria, who was a _real woman_ and not just an amiable aspect?

Will had been her companion of childhood days and for a long time her only friend her own age. They had been very alone, the both of them, but life had been a little less lonely for having each other, and when she had read her first romance novels, he had been the only possible object for all the gushing that had come with the territory of being very young and reading naff romances. As violent as her crush on him had surely been, it had also been most unfair against him, because it hadn't really been him she had fancied, but rather a fantasy of him – the lowly but noble craftsman, the free-spirited pirate, the star-struck lover, or whatever else the heroes of her novels that day had been. Now she comprehended her uneasiness regarding their impending wedding. As a thing of the distant future, it was fine, it was romantic – but threatening to take place any sooner? Intolerable!

And that was also what had made her reject James, wasn't it? _He_ was a grown-up man, too solid – _too real_ – to be moulded around her fancies, and ready to marry her on the spot. But _she_ hadn't been ready to get married. Getting married was for grown-ups, people who knew themselves and their minds, people _acting_ like grown-ups, too. She hadn't wanted to grow up just yet, and in a way Will had been a safe bet in that regard.

With a self-knowledge that was more than painful, she realised that she was no patch on James, in a way she must always have known, at least as long as being aware that he had loved her. Being the wife of a man like him would have meant responsibility and thinking of others rather than herself. It also would have meant that she couldn't always have it her way. Not because he wouldn't have complied with her every wish, but because her own respect for him would have demanded her to act the way his wife ought to behave.

Only now, she suddenly knew that there was nothing she wanted more than being the wife of this _fine man_ , this quintessence of any manly virtue she valued. Most eye-catching, he was courageous and honourable, but that was only the Commodore, the outer shell so to speak. Inside he was good – he was clever – he was caring, and kind – so kind – he'd always been just so very kind to her, no matter how terribly she had behaved. And even that was only another, if deeper hidden, shell. In the past months – once he had stopped being in love with her and no longer guarded every word he said, every gesture – she had come to see that he possessed a dry sense of humour, an unexpected playfulness, and what was more, a deep humanity unmatched by anyone she'd ever met.

To think that this man's heart had once belonged to her – and how she had repaid his affection – was agony untold. If only she hadn't been such a silly, obstinate girl, if only –

There was a knock at her door and Scott announced, "Miss van Dyke for you, Miss."

She gave a start when facing Marleen, who looked both insecure and radiantly happy. She tried her best to recompose, but couldn't but stare at her friend while icy fingers clenched her heart and lungs.

"Good afternoon, Lizzy! Are you unwell?"

She barely managed to croak, "What brings you here?"

"I had hoped we could talk and sort out whatever you think I have done to wrong you. Please, I so wish to make up, just tell me what to do! And also I have some news to tell you, which will amuse you, I'm sure – but I can come back later if you aren't feeling well…"

" _News?_ "

Marleen's glowing eyes darkened anxiously. "You look like the living dead, Lizzy! Can I get you something? Shall I call for Dr. Jennings?"

"No, no – what news?"

Downright panic engulfed her. She bravely tried to make a face that wouldn't look as horror-stricken as she felt. Perhaps it worked, or perhaps Marleen was only too eager to tell her friend why she had come; in any case, she smiled brightly and commenced, "You will be very surprised at me, Lizzy, you will laugh at me, I know. I deserve it! I haven't told anybody else, I wanted _you_ to be the first one, I wanted to see the look on your face when I confess it. After all I've ever said about love, or that I should never be a sailor's wife… How foolish I was! The terrible nonsense I've – are you _sure_ that I really can't fetch you anything?"

Elizabeth frantically shook her head, panting, "A sailor's wife!"

"Oh now I've given it all away, for you certainly know who I'm talking about anyway. He came to us yesterday evening –"

Elizabeth could take it no more, she jumped up and sprinted out of the room as fast as she could, crying, "Excuse me!" She ran down the stairs and out of the house, out, out, away, she had to get away as far as possible from Marleen, who looked just so happy, who couldn't know how her news agonised her friend –

So that's why he hadn't had time to dine with them the previous evening! James had proposed to Marleen! The horror of it! So that was the Lord's punishment for her! Now, he loved Marleen, who was everything that Elizabeth was not, patient, calm, composed and clever. Or did he? Could he _truly_ be in love with her, like he had loved herself? But even if he had only asked Marleen to finally be married to a decent woman – he was too much a man of honour to ever break such a bond!

How should she endure it?! Being the Governor's daughter, she'd be forced to meet the Commodore and his wife frequently, her own often declared friendship to him obliging her just as much as her old friendship to Marleen. She had all those scenes in her head, all the little dinners and lovely afternoon teas that would take the heart out of her and – _oh God!_ The wedding! How was she supposed to make it through the _wedding_! Being condemned to see the man she loved marrying another woman!

A little voice in her head snarled, 'Serves you right! The pain you're feeling now is the same you inflicted on him!'

It had always preyed on her mind that she had first accepted, then deserted James, but clearly she hadn't known the meaning of remorse until now. Her entire body was tingling with it, her head was swimming, her stomach revolting. 'Oh James, how could I ever do this to you!'

And all that for the contents of some silly books that she would never confess to have read in the first place! Because of her self-will and childishness! Because she had meant her power over him to be so great that he wouldn't simply stop loving her! She had destroyed it all!

Another thought darted through her mind – Will! She _couldn't_ marry him! Like James, Will, too, did not deserve to bind himself to a woman loving him less than he loved her! Why hadn't she just seen it sooner, and why must she realise it just in the moment of her greatest loss now?! If the Lord wanted to teach her a lesson, he was a strict, cruel teacher!

She had to talk to Will, and being both restless and desperate enough in this moment, she resolved to go at once. Why wait? It wouldn't be easier tomorrow, and if she was to spend the rest of her days in sheer misery, she could just as well start with it right now. This morning in church, she had got the first small taste of the bitterness the rest of her life was going to be.

She called on the Browns and asked for Will; she hadn't been here since she was twelve or thirteen, and Mrs. Brown didn't bother to conceal her astonishment with the unexpected visitor either. She asked her to come in, but Elizabeth forced herself to smile and answer as unperturbed as she could, "No, thank you very much, Ma'am, but it's such a lovely day. I'd like to take a walk. Can you fetch him, please?"

The elderly woman hurried away – one ought not let the Governor's daughter wait – and returned two minutes later with the boy who was her fiancé still, and looked quite like it.

"Elizabeth," he cried merrily, "How charming that you've come! I had meant to see you after the service, but your carriage left so quickly – I didn't even have a chance to give you your present."

He fumbled in his pockets, but she said, "Later, Will, later. Please. Come, let's walk a little."

"Of course, my dearest."

She winced back with that address and repeated, "Come, let's take a walk."

They went along the cliffs in resonant silence; she saw that he was getting more and more distressed, so she murmured eventually, "I have to talk to you, Will… I hope you will not take this too badly, but – I'm afraid you won't like it. You won't like this just one bit."

"I couldn't dislike anything you could ever say, my love," he said guilelessly. "Unless of course, you told me that you didn't love me!"

He sniggered at his own remark, clearly waiting for her to join in, but of course, she couldn't. She could not look at him either when answering, "But that is exactly the reason why I've wanted to talk to you –"

He laughed a little more. "That you don't love me? Oh well, and I had almost believed you to have some serious business to discuss with me."

"I _am_ serious, Will," she whispered sadly. She waited for him to say something – anything – for she had absolutely no idea how to go on. She dared not to look over, and was more than slightly shocked when finally hearing his voice that was distorted with pain and helplessness.

"But Elizabeth – but _why_? What did I do wrong? Just tell me, I – I'd do anything for you!"

"I know." She forced herself to meet his eyes and not wince back with what she saw. He looked agonised. "And believe me, it's got nothing to do with you. You're wonderful, Will, every bit of you, and surely, you've done nothing wrong. But I have done nothing right, I've been wrong all along. I'm sorry to cause you pain, but I owe it to you to tell you the truth. I did believe I loved you, but I – I was wrong."

His eyes were pools of despair, staring at her without so much as a blink, and she quietly went on, "I've been terrible to you, I know, I've niggled and scolded and reprimanded you for no reason at all, for you had done nothing to deserve it. Too silly to understand my own foolishness, I tried to blame you for my ill humours. All the time, you've been just so sweet and I treated you like – it grieves me to think of it. I hope you believe me that I acted with no ill will – I simply didn't understand myself…"

"And now you do?"

She nodded gravely.

"Is it because of somebody else?"

She hesitated for some seconds, but resolved not to lie to him. She had never voluntarily lied to him before and she wouldn't start right now. It was the least she could do. "Yes, or rather say – I've realised I _do_ love somebody else, but I won't marry him or anything like that, if that's what you mean."

"Please, you needn't refrain for my sake," he said as bravely as he could.

She mustered a weak smile. "You think too highly of me, but I'm not that noble. No, he – he's got somebody else, too…"

"It's Jack, right?"

She gaped at him, but he wasn't joking, so she cried, "For heaven's sake, no! Jack?! How can you believe me to – no way!"

He chuckled sadly. "Just a silly notion… I've always been deadly jealous because of that night when you were marooned with him on that island. Drove me quite mad, you know?"

"But I _told_ you there was _nothing_!"

"But madness got nothing to do with reason, has it?" He sighed and shrugged. "I suppose I should call on the good Commodore then – we could establish a little club for broken hearts."

She smiled bitterly. "Indeed, I hope you will follow the Commodore's example. I daresay he's got over me rather well and found himself a better girl than me!"

"Has he?" But in this moment, realisation was dawning on him, and he groaned, "Oh, I _see_. Oh! Yes, of course – well, I could have thought of _that_ earlier!"

"Could you? Why?" she asked, alarmed – had she let her feelings shown so openly?! Before she had even become aware of them herself?!

"Well, you were clearly devoted to him. I just thought you were feeling guilty –"

"Believe me, so did I."

"All the 'James here' and 'James there' and then your welcoming him the way you did when the Challenger returned home... So he's found somebody new? But not Miss van Dyke, surely?"

She nodded silently, and he gave a dry laugh. "Ah – now I also understand why you've been so mad with her all the time!"

"Possibly. But I didn't understand that myself until this morning."

"I'm so sorry." His expression had turned very serious again. "Honestly, I mean it. You've abandoned your true love for my sake – I'm truly sorry about that!"

She wanted to interrupt him, tell him that she couldn't endure his sympathy – his anger, hate or disdain, but not his sympathy – but he didn't let her, and continued, "It's all right, Elizabeth. You know, I always found that you'd have made a nice couple. You've kind of matched. I never really understood what you might see in me, and I've always had the highest opinion of the Commodore. I wouldn't have rejoiced from the depths of my heart to see you marry him, but I found him to be the only man worthy of you, including myself. It pains me almost as much as losing you to think that I've been the reason for your loss."

She had tears in her eyes and whispered, "Thank you – you're a wonderful person, Will…"

"Yes? And so are you, Elizabeth, don't let me hear you say again that he had found a better girl, for there _is_ no better girl than you, not even Miss van Dyke." He tried to flash her a smile but failed. "You must make some concessions to my pride – at least, I want to be left by the _best_ girl in the world."

She forced herself to laugh, and following a sudden impulse, she quickly embraced him and kissed his cheek. "One day you will make the _other_ best girl in the world incredibly happy!"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I would like to send a cheery Salut & chudden daach to Belgium! I can see that people are reading this (even if I can never tempt anybody to leave a review ;) and in this one particular case I can even see that there is one person located in Belgium who has read the whole story so far. So, anon, you are my only reader I sort of "know", I hope you enjoy what you got so far!


	23. Getting it Right

**Getting It Right**

* * *

 _Him first, him last, him midst, and without end._

 _JOHN MILTON  
_

* * *

The first person to learn about Elizabeth Swann's latest change of mind was her good father. The old gentleman hadn't dared to entertain any hope that his dear child would ever come to her senses again. He listened in gobsmacked surprise; for the young blacksmith he felt some compassion, but only little compared to his utter relief.

"You remember that you told me to go back to England for some time, Papa?" she asked lowly before he could get a word in. "Because I want to go at once. Or at least to Nassau or so. I need to get away from here as soon as I can."

"Sure you can go, my dear, but – breaking up another engagement isn't the end of the world, you know?"

"I cannot stay, Papa. I cannot..."

No, she couldn't, she couldn't even stay in the _house_ , and not two minutes later, she was gone again. Only now he remembered the most astonishing piece of news he had wanted to tell her – her friend Miss van Dyke had been here earlier on announcing that she was engaged, and he firmly resolved not to forget about it when Elizabeth returned. She'd find it a hoot!

Not knowing where to go but desperate to distance herself from anybody she could meet accidentally – and perhaps involve her in a little chat about the Commodore's new bride! – Elizabeth turned to the hills above town and took a long, solitary walk. Every now and then she came across a scenic viewpoint over the bay, the town, the fortress which magically attracted her gaze whenever it came in sight.

She observed its adamant white walls and recited a line to herself that James – _James_... – had once read to her, 'Be as a tower firmly set; shakes not its top for any blast that blows.' It could well have been his personal motto. Would she manage to be only half as stoical as he had been? Probably not; patience was one of the virtues she entirely lacked. Constancy surely was another of those, but right now she was quite certain that she wasn't going to recover from this particular blow any time soon. _She_ wasn't going to attach herself to someone else in half a year!

But this was unfair no matter which way she looked at it. She had made it very easy for him to forget about her, the way she had treated him, but he, thoughtful and kind and overall perfect as he was, wasn't likely to return the favour. In his excellence he had melted even Marleen's cold composure, because rave as she might, Elizabeth had seen very well how blissful the young woman had been today, both in church and during her visit earlier on. This was no girl saying yes because it was convenient, a _smart match_ to a very eligible man – this was a girl very much in love with the man of her dreams, her shining eyes and rosy hue had betrayed her. _Of course_ she was in love with him! How could she not be? One had to be as silly as Elizabeth to overlook that he was everything any girl could ever want.

At this time of year, dusk fell a little earlier, but even if not, she was too far from town to make it down before dark. The descent in darkness was not without perils, but in her present mood she found it a very suitable metaphor for her future; her chin set firmly she picked her way without slowing down or taking particular care where she tread. By right she should have tumbled into the nearest crevice or at least strained an ankle or got lost, but speaking of metaphors! Once one was to go down and hit bottom line, one must not hope to be hindered in one's downfall!

The last part of the way was even steeper; her feet became faster and faster by their own account and when she reached the first houses, she was running. She passed the way over to her father's house without any thought of going home. She was too distraught; presently her mind was very busy going through the list of ships able to spirit her away before James and Marleen got married. She simply ran on and on without any fixed destination; her feet, however, seemed to have plans of their own. She was quite startled when she suddenly found herself in front of the fort, which she only realised because she so forcefully hammered on the gates that she hurt her hands.

She was so much out of breath, she barely managed to make the guard understand her. "Are you alright, Miss?" he asked apprehensively.

"Take – me – to – the – Commodore!" she repeated, clutching her splitting sides.

No simple soldier would dream of disobeying the Governor's daughter, so he did as he was told regardless of the late hour – or his order not to admit civilians who didn't offer him a _very_ convincing reason. As much as Elizabeth had been in haste, when they arrived at the door to the Commodore's quarters, she found she was at a perfect loss what she was supposed to do or say now. But already, the servile soldier had knocked, the door was opened, and James, so thoroughly unsuspecting any visitor that he was in his shirtsleeves and not even wearing his wig, looked at her in a mixture of concern and astonishment.

"Miss Swann! Has anything happened? Is your father –"

"My father is perfectly fine, I daresay he's never been better," she panted and slammed the door in the officer's curious face.

"But –"

"I know it is very late – _too_ late, I know – but I just _had_ to see you!"

He marvelled at her dishevelled appearance, little sprigs caught in her artful hairdo, the seam of her dress torn in several places, and most of all, her breathlessness. She was dead pale, which only enhanced two very red blots on her cheeks, and her eyes glowed as if she was in a fever.

"Please sit down!" he urged anxiously. "Can I get you anything?"

"No!" She reached out for his arm to hold him back as he was turning away, and shocked at her own boldness, shrank away at once. "I need nothing and I don't need to sit down either, I'll be gone in a minute and – please stay, James, I must talk to you _now_ , or I may never again find the courage! But where to start – it's all such a muddle! When I think of what I did to you – how you must hate me –"

"Hate you! Don't you even _think_ that!"

"I'm not good with finding the right words, ever, am I? I meant – I can understand now how you must have felt and I want you to know I am so, so sorry!"

"Don't trouble yourself, dear, I'm fine," he declared with conviction, unwitting how it pained her to hear that he had become indifferent to her, and went on, "Clearly I should have impressed that on you much sooner, but I thought you knew. It is all good between you and me, Miss Swann, really. I _understand_ –"

"No, you don't! You really, really don't!"

"But I do! I assure you, I do! You ought not to marry a man out of obligation, or gratitude, or because everybody keeps on telling you it's the smart thing to do –"

"And yet you'll marry Marleen!" she cried despite herself.

He stared at her. "Come again?"

Her cheeks flushed and she looked away. "I'm sorry. I know she is perfect. I _know_. She'll make the perfect wife for you, she's everything I'm not, I do know that!"

He opened his mouth and shut it in utter perplexity. "What on earth makes you think I was going to marry Miss van Dyke?"

"She told me! And she is obviously out of herself with joy!"

"She – what?!"

"She came over this afternoon and told me."

"Miss van Dyke told you I had proposed to her?!"

"Not in so many words, but the message was quite clear."

"It clearly wasn't because I did nothing of the sort!"

"You didn't?"

"No! You'd think I'd remember, wouldn't you?"

"But this morning, in church – I saw her beaming at you – and the lieutenant congratulating you – and..."

"I don't know what you think you saw, but you were certainly mistaken! If she beamed at anybody, it was Lieutenant Groves, and he didn't congratulate me but thank me for spending the better part of yesterday afternoon talking him into proposing to the lady!"

Elizabeth sat down after all. This piece of intelligence pulled the rug out from under her feet and she collapsed onto the next chair which luckily stood around as if it was just waiting to save a young lady.

"Are you alright, dear?" he asked tentatively. He was absolutely mystified by the situation on the whole, and would gladly have run for the doctor only to have something to do.

"Marleen is to marry – Lieutenant Groves?!"

"As of this morning they were engaged, yes. Of course, these things can change every minute."

She half laughed, half choked. "They can indeed. I broke up with Will this afternoon."

"Oh – I'm sorry," he replied softly. At least that explained the terrible state she was in. "How – why..."

Too puzzled to think straight, she clasped her hands to her eyes. "Oh, you know me. Turned out I was mistaken in my feelings."

"What did he do!"

The very perceptible note of infuriation in his tone aroused her and she lowered her hands to look at him, finding his fists clenched and a look of utter outrage edged into his features. "No, no – please – you misunderstand. _He_ did nothing! I am the villain in this piece! And as soon as possible I will go back to England..."

"Oh!" That _was_ a blow, but he did his best not to let his distress show. "I wasn't... I didn't know you had any such plans..."

"Because I had none until..." She frowned, cast him a swift glance and stared back at her feet. "So... Are you very much disappointed that Marleen is to marry Mr. Groves...?"

"Disappointed?! Honestly, I do know that half of the town isn't happy if they cannot tattle about the other half, but I'd like some strong words with whoever it was putting the rumour into the world that I had any intentions in that quarter!"

"So you're not in love with her?"

"No, I'm not and I never was!"

She couldn't have suppressed the huge sigh of relief for anything. "That _is_ good news!"

"It is, isn't it? For I don't know how many refusals I can take in one year."

Laughter and fear of suffocation fought a fierce battle in Elizabeth's chest, making her squirm.

He hastened to add, "Which was absolutely no reflection on you, dear. I'm sorry, this was in bad taste."

"No, it was just plain true," she panted. "James, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am!"

"And I seem to be incapable of making you believe that there is nothing for you to be sorry _about_! You didn't want to marry me – that is no sin, you know?"

She gave another dry, choking laugh. "And yet I will never forgive myself for it!"

"But that's terrible! Please, Elizabeth – I never meant you to feel bad on my account!"

"You think me capable of being so noble, do you? No, no, James, _this_ is just as much self-pity as remorse!"

He had no idea what she was talking about and wondered if a little snifter of Scotch would help her. He faintly recalled that it had done him good service at the end of an engagement once.

She shook her head. "And it's all just so – so – what's the word..."

Futile? Nonsensical? Hopeless? Sad? Tragic? He could think of any number of words describing _his_ situation, but was tactful enough to keep them to himself.

"Ironic!" she exclaimed, slapping her thigh. "That's it, _ironic_!"

"I don't think that's the word you're looking for, dear."

"No, no, I'm quite sure. It means the disparity between things, doesn't it?"

"I'm not sure I can follow you..."

"I behaved shamefully to you because I thought I was in love with Will, which I'm not and now I do get my comeuppance for being so horrible to you by realising that it was you all along I'm in love with, just that now, you no longer care for me. That _is_ ironic, I'm sure of it!"

No, he really couldn't follow her. _At all_. In fact, the way he had understood the sentence, he thought he had heard a declaration of love in there somewhere. And that way madness lies.

She quickly got up with scarlet cheeks and a lopsided smirk and made for the door. "Well, it's not proper for a lady but all the same I'm glad that's come out. Forgive me for disturbing you."

"You didn't _disturb_ me –"

Her smirk turned yet more wry. "No, I did not, did I?"

He knew a rhetorical question when he saw one and too bewildered for anything else, took refuge in good manners. "Can I offer you a glass of anything? Water? Scotch? I'm sure it'd do you good..."

"Dear James, you really are a perfect gentleman." She opened the door. "Good night, James!"

She hurried down the corridor, torn between shame at her own conduct and unspeakable relief flooding through her veins. He wouldn't marry Marleen after all! Oh praise the Lord! That didn't make him fall back in love with _her_ , alright, but at least the most immediate future was safe and she needn't board the next best ship only to get away from witnessing his happiness with someone else.

She was just out of the fort when she heard footsteps rushing after her, and a cry, "Elizabeth!"

She turned around. Her heart jumped with delight to see James had run after her, but her embarrassment was none the less acute. She cast down her eyes.

"Elizabeth," he gasped, making a move with his hands towards her but recoiling at once. "Elizabeth..."

"Yes...?"

"Did you – did I – I thought I..."

She dared looking at him for a second, finding him staring at her in utter confusion. "Yes...?"

"Just now before you left – you tried to explain something to me – about irony I believe. I am sorry, but I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your meaning."

"Don't make me repeat it, James! I'm burning with shame as it is!"

"Elizabeth, _please_! You clearly have no idea how momentous it is for me to understand you for certain!"

"Oh, very well. I'll never be a proper lady this way or that," she murmured and raised her gaze to him. She bit her lip before continuing with a cracking voice, "I said that I love you, James, I am utterly madly deeply in love with you!"

He did not move, he did not speak, all he did was stare at her in speechless stupefaction, but that didn't matter, because in his eyes which were fixed on hers she saw what she no longer had dared to hope for.

"It's true," she whispered. "I wouldn't believe me if I were you, but it _is_ true. I simply adore you. When I thought I had lost you – when I thought you'd never come back – when I believed you were to marry Marleen – my whole world came crushing down on me. It's taken me ages to comprehend that I could never be happy without you, but it's the plain truth."

"But – but –"

" _But?_ "

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before snatching her hands for a start. He lifted them to his lips and kissed her fingertips so lightly that it sent shivers down her spine. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, finding her looking at him raptly.

At no time had he ever entertained any hope that she could _ever_ look at him in such a fashion. He wouldn't have thought it possible for anyone to express such tenderness with their eyes, let alone believe that _he_ could possibly incite any such sentiment in her.

Yet there she was, soulfully gazing up at him and trembling, clinging to his hands like dear life and kissing his fingers in turn. The sensation made him feel quite faint.

"Oh Elizabeth..." he moaned quietly. "My dearest, my beloved Elizabeth..."

Pressing his hands to her face, she breathed, "Beloved...?"

"How can you even ask! I thought it must be written all over my face whenever I glimpsed at you how much I love you!"

She leaned her forehead to his chest, drinking in his scent and incidentally keeping herself from toppling with the sheer excitement of it all. He clasped his arms around her, holding her tight, and kissed her hair, her temple, her eyes. Feeling his lips brush her skin was the sweetest thrill she had ever experienced, so exhilarating that she felt quite weightless and would have toppled if her hadn't held her. She gasped at every caress; he gently cupped the side of her head to make her look up, searching her face for permission before finally daring to kiss her lips.

Neither of them even noticed that, late as the hour may me, some denizens of Port Royal were still out on the streets, goggling as the head of the fort bowed down to kiss the Governor's daughter for everyone to see in the flickering torch lights illuminating the gates to the fort. To tell the truth, it is just possible that neither of the bewitched couple would have noticed an entire armada bombing the harbour right now.

Who could say how long they stood there like that, entwined in close embrace, kissing? Well, Mr. Niven, the guard on duty (who had drawn the short straw for the Christmas duty rota and even now doubted that any of his mates would believe him) could, as well as Mr. Fielding, the haberdasher, with his first-class view from his parlour window, and he did tell it to all and sundry. Thirty-seven minutes they stood there, he would say, kissing like a couple about to part forever, or just reuniting after years and years of separation, until the Commodore, being his thoughtful self, remembered that he was keeping his beloved out in the cold (or what passed for 'cold' in the Caribbean) without as much as a coat to offer her and suggested to walk her home.

As they slowly ambled uphill in the dark, stopping every fifty yards to steal another kiss, or for the Commodore to pick stray leaves and sprigs out of his beloved's hair, or simply voice their incredulity at this most unexpected stroke of luck, Elizabeth clang tightly to her paramour's arm thinking that if only he had tried to kiss her during their engagement, he would have spared them both a world of misery. So great was her elation that her feet hardly touched the ground.

They arrived at the Governor's house when the clock stroke half past ten. The old gentleman had grown so worried about his daughter's unexplained absence that he was just about to organise a search party but forgot all about it when he saw his daughter returning home holding hands with Commodore Norrington– of all people! – who wore nothing more formal than his shirtsleeves and begged him for 'a word or two'. He could impossibly have been more astonished – or delighted. This was the son-in-law he had always dreamt of and given up with a heavy heart. _Of course_ they had his blessings! _Of course!_

The entire consultation didn't take more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours to Elizabeth impatiently waiting next door. She had no doubts concerning her father's answer, but being parted from James, now that she had finally, _at last_ found him, was intolerable for any amount of time.

"And...?" she asked with bated breath when he finally returned.

He smiled archly. "Why, didn't you listen at the door, then?"

"I'm trying to live up to your example and be a good girl from now on."

"How terrible! I love you just the way you are!"

"Prove it!"

"As I keep on preaching to my men – safety comes first," he said mischievously and surveyed a couple of chairs before drawing one that had a high back and armrests and placing it in the middle of them room. He smiled at her and beckoned at the chair. "Please, sit down, my love. We don't want any accidents, do we?"

"Accidents?"

"Just in case, I procured some smelling salts from your father. I beg you to give notice when you need them."

She saw the light and laughed. "Would a faint be enough notice?"

"I want to get this right this time."

"Oh, me too! Me too!"

He got down on one knee before her, suddenly nervous once more. He took her hands into his and pressed them with feeling, kissed them, pressed them, cleared his throat a couple of times and yet had no voice when beginning, "Elizabeth... My darling Elizabeth, I love you more than anything, more than my life, more than words can sensibly express..."

"I love you too, James!"

That simple statement of the very obvious befuddled him so much he quite forgot what he had been about to say next; it took him several moments to recover before he managed to stammer, "So may I be so bold to – will you do me the honour – could you be prevailed upon..."

"Yes...? Please, say it, James! The answer is yes at any rate, but I should so love to have you ask me once more!"

He smiled and took a deep breath. "My mostly beloved Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

She threw her arms around him. "Yes!" she exclaimed, "yes, yes, a thousand times yes! There's nothing I want more!"

Neither of them heard the happy sigh in the next room, where Governor Swann was eavesdropping with pink cheeks, and having ascertained that really and truly, he had _not_ got the wrong end of the stick this time, he retired to bed after all.

Tears of joy were trickling down his daughter's cheeks, while her suitor considered himself lucky to be kneeling on the floor as he couldn't have guaranteed not to succumb to a happy faint himself. He cupped her face and wiped away the tears with his thumbs, startled by the sight as always but for once not alarmed – merely touched to the core – before remembering what he had meant to do after asking her. He fumbled rather clumsily with his collar, finding he was even luckier to be so improperly dressed in the first place (a cravat might have been his undoing at this point), before he finally managed to free the chain around his neck, remove it and present her with the golden ring with the brilliant emerald he had stuck on her finger once before.

Last time, she had been awkward as hell and not known where to look. This time, she was so agitated and trembled so violently that he scarcely managed to slip the ring on her finger. "I can't believe you kept that," she croaked, enraptured, by turns gazing at the wonderful ring and her even more wonderful fiancé.

"Of course I kept it. It was the only thing that I had left of you."

She blushed and squeezed her eyes shut. "I wish I could make you forget all that!"

He pressed her hands. "Don't make yourself uneasy, my love. You didn't love me –"

"Oh, I think I did, I just wasn't ready to get married."

A little frown creased his brow. "And are you sure you are you ready now? Because I'm happy to wait –"

"I don't want to wait!" she exclaimed emphatically. "I most certainly do not want _that_! If it was up to me, I'd marry you first thing tomorrow morning!"

He grinned. "Are you afraid to change your mind again that you're in such a hurry?"

She made a mock scandalised face. "Oh you! No, just so you know, I am not the least afraid of _that_. But when you know you want to be with someone for the rest of your life, you want that life to begin as soon as possible!"

He kissed her with great animation for that avowal, before burying his head in her lap. "Still, I think it is good it all came like it did. I might never have believed you truly wanted me otherwise. I'm still gobsmacked as it is."

She let her fingers glide through his hair, his beautiful dark hair. "You should have tried kissing me then, then we'd both have known at once!"

"Kiss you! I wouldn't have dared."

"I know! And it is a great pity because I don't think any woman has ever been kissed like that."

He chuckled, the notion was just too absurd. Modest as he may be, Commodore James Norrington had a rather concise idea of his abilities (and weaknesses), and that Elizabeth should consider him to be a persuasive kisser had not figured in that list. Until this night, he had never kissed anyone and to be quite frank, he had no idea what he was doing.

She kept on caressing his hair. "I think I was scared of the responsibility, you know? Of being your wife. I'm still a little afraid whether I can ever be good enough –"

"Good enough! You are perfect!"

"No, _you_ are perfect. You are everything a man ought to be, and more, I've always known that, and it intimidated me a little... But with you by my side I believe I can manage to show myself worthy of you."

He lifted his head to look at her with an indulgent smile. "You are talking such nonsense, my dearest, dearest Elizabeth. Honestly!"

She grinned. "What a hideous thing to say to your wife-to-be! And yet I am right, if only you'd hear me out. You see, I never thought twice whether I was embarrassing my father. But _your wife_ must not offend Admiral Thompson, she must not throw tantrums in public, she must not partake in the freeing of prisoners, she must not be stubborn and inconsiderate and self-centred and always put herself first. And together with you, I think I could just about bring that off."

"You mustn't change one bit. I worship you just the way you are!"

"You poor deluded man, bless you!" She laughed. "You really are too good to be true."

"I hear that all the time," he chuckled.

"Then it's time you start to believe it."

He sealed her lips with a kiss before she could say more things to make him blush.

* * *

Be as a tower firmly set... Dante


	24. Perfect

**Perfect**

* * *

 _But here must all distrust be left behind; all cowardice must be ended._

 _DANTE_

* * *

On Boxing Day, James Norrington opened his eyes when waking up and wondered for full five minutes whether he had just had the most wonderful dream. 'But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night,' a wise man had once written, and James had too often dreamt of his adored to entirely trust himself now. He touched his lips where her sweet kisses seemed to linger, his scalp was crawling with the remembrance of her tender fingertips. No matter how frequent his dreams of her had been though, she surely had never figured in them so vividly, with such abandon, such glowing eyes filled to the brim with love... Yet it _couldn't_ be true, could it?

But he knew how to check, didn't he! Recalling the necklace with her ring, he touched his neck, finding it gone. So it hadn't been just a dream after all?!

The realisation quite knocked him over the head. After all this time, after all the pain, the hopelessness, the sheer agony, could she truly be his with hand and heart? Remembering the kind of looks she had given him last night, the way she had kissed him, the tremor in her voice when groaning his name, there could be no room for doubt that the path to paradise begins in hell and he wanted to sing out loud and embrace the whole world.

He jumped out of bed, washed and got dressed with even more care than usual, then went looking for Robert Groves before even breakfasting. The Lieutenant listened with an open mouth, his initial disbelief quelled almost at once by the recollection of various little and not so little signs which had given him pause when they had occurred, but which he had then discarded as symptoms of Miss Swann's usual kinks. It was enough to convince even the lady's harshest critic that she wasn't once more leading the Commodore on before he could give voice to a contrary word and thereby rain on his friend's parade. What was more – he knew his Commodore. He had seen him after Miss Swann had accepted him the first time. And he had no share _now_ of the guarded mirth he had shown then – this man was nothing if not plainly happy, and far too circumspect to allow himself to be so swept away if he weren't entirely certain. As a result, the first thing Robert Groves uttered were deeply heartfelt congratulations, thinking that perhaps the little Miss might make his friend a decent wife after all, now she had finally seen the error of her ways.

The next person to receive a visit from the Commodore was Reverend Martin to ascertain the next possible date for a wedding – and a handful of later dates, just in case. "You see, I don't mean to rush her; she may have reconsidered since last night..." he muttered, suddenly insecure once more.

The Reverend smiled benignly. Perhaps he was the only person not much surprised by this whole turn of events, for a priest often knows more about his lambs' souls than they do themselves.

"I don't think you need to worry on that account, sir. I've seen quite a lot of your betrothed in the last weeks –"

This was news to James. Elizabeth had never been a pious girl. "Did you?"

"Oh, indeed I did. Ever since the Challenger departed, she was a fixture in my church, praying with such fervour as I've rarely seen. She was out of herself with worries for your sake, and to distract her, I introduced her to helping out in the hospital."

He saw the younger man's utter surprise and shrugged. "Didn't you know? Your future wife has become a byword for charity in this town. She didn't tire in her efforts even when you safely returned home. I believe she said something about 'making a deal with God' if He let you come back home safe and sound."

He was pleased by the beatific smile spreading on the Commodore's features and gave his word to join their hands at the soonest possible date, which was going to be the 3rd of January. And just to do the man a favour, he marked also the 20th of February, the 1st of April and October 16th.

"Just to make sure."

"Of course, Commodore, of course," the priest chuckled.

Meanwhile Elizabeth, so overjoyed that she wanted the whole world to share her felicity, paid a long overdue visit to the van Dykes. She heartily congratulated Marleen on her engagement and made some pretty conversation to the parents before Marleen could think of a pretext to get her on her own.

For a start, Elizabeth fulsomely begged her friend's forgiveness, but Marleen waved it all off and pointed at the emerald ring instead. "I needn't hear any excuses, Lizzy, I am just glad you're no longer angry with me. What I do want to hear about is _that ring_! Blimey, it's a thing of beauty!"

"It is, isn't it?" Elizabeth shot the jewel a besotted glance. "It's quite the colour of his eyes, you know?"

Marleen frowned. Well, they did say the eyes of love are blind after all, or there was no accounting for mixing up William Turner's dark brown eyes and that richly green emerald.

She let it pass and quipped, "Did Mr. Turner dig up some treasure after all?"

"Oh! Of course, you cannot know..." Elizabeth's cheeks reddened. And then she told her all, about the break-up first, about the Commodore's second proposal next –

"You must hand it to the man, he is brave," Marleen remarked sardonically. "Asking the same woman twice, a woman no less who had made it quite clear she really didn't want him."

"Hush! Don't mention it! I flush with shame whenever I think of my own conduct. Which brings me back to what you don't want to hear, but I'm going to say it anyway to get it off my chest. I _am_ sorry for treating you so coldly. I wasn't angry with you, Marleen, not at all, I was just seething with jealousy!"

"Jealousy!"

"I had somehow taken it to my head that you wanted to marry James. And then you took care to have him brought to your house, and – and – I couldn't endure it!"

Marleen tilted her head. "You know the funny thing? I might have accepted him at once if he'd asked me right after returning. That is, before I got acquainted with Robert... Gosh, what a dunderhead I've been! I honestly believed all the rubbish I spouted about regard being enough for a happy marriage."

"Thank God he didn't ask you then!"

"He was unconscious, Lizzy. And even if he had been awake – he was so hung up on you, the poor fellow. You should have seen him whenever you'd been here to visit. One didn't know if he was happy or crushed."

Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, but Marleen gently patted her shoulder. "Never mind, Lizzie, that's all in the past now."

"How could I be so stupid!"

"By being young, dear. We all learn from our mistakes, and nobody is perfect."

Elizabeth retorted with great earnestness, "Oh no, you're wrong. James is just perfect. He really is."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he is. As a matter of fact, that is exactly why I could never have fallen in love with him. He is such a pillar of respectability, faultless and flawless like his own statue."

"Ts! Don't think I'm going to believe you found any flaw in Lieutenant Groves, Marleen!"

Her friend grinned. "Yes, that's true. His only fault is not having any. But you still owe me an answer that I'm sure you can give me now – how _does_ the Commodore kiss?"

Elizabeth flashed her deepest scarlet yet. "Heavenly," she whispered and clasped her mouth.

It must remain unclear whether Commodore Norrington would have been flattered by that compliment or plainly embarrassed. But pillar of respectability or not, he knew that only practise can lead the way to perfection and seized the chance to get some more of it as soon as being alone with Elizabeth when he called on her shortly before noon.

Breaking away to catch his breath at last, he panted, "Lest I forget – I did talk to Reverend Martin this morning."

She was clearly delighted. "And...?"

"What do you think of October 16th?"

"What?!" She jerked back her head to stare at him. "But that's in ten months!"

He took great care to make a very serious face. "Too soon...?"

"Too _late_!"

"So what would you say to April 1st?"

"I'd say you're making an April fool of me!"

He suppressed a smile and went on in perfect seriousness, "The 20th of February it is, then."

A huge smile spread on her face and she angled her head to give him a swift kiss. "That's more like it. Though I wish it was sooner... Why can't he make it any sooner?!"

"Why, I thought even the end of February might be a little too early for you."

"Did you actually listen to anything I said to you last night?"

"Yes, and then I accommodated some room for second thoughts."

"Please James! You mustn't mock me."

He grinned and brushed a kiss on her temple, whispering in her ear, "Alright then. If you really, really want to, Reverend Martin could squeeze us in next Friday."

Upstairs in his study, the Governor was alarmed by a whooping cry in the garden. Looking out of the window, however, he only saw his daughter wrapped around her new – and old – fiancé, kissing with a passion that might have some detrimental effect on the younger servants if they saw it. Absent-mindedly he addressed his late wife's portrait, "My dear Mary, I must tell you that customs have changed materially in the last twenty years – did I ever kiss you in your father's garden in broad daylight? Oh yes, you're right, of course! _Now_ I remember – forget I said anything, my love!"

Downstairs in the garden, Elizabeth did a little jig of joy. "Only eight more days!"

"It _is_ very soon... Do you reckon that's enough time to get a dress?"

"Ha! I'll have you know you're not the only one storing paraphernalia from our last engagement." She wiggled the fingers of her left hand and shot her engagement ring an enraptured smile.

"You actually kept the _wedding dress_?"

"It arrived two weeks after you left, and I'd have regarded it a very bad omen to send it back."

Tongue in cheek, he replied, "Also you could have used it for your next wedding –"

Her cheeks turned pink. "Don't tease me so, James! Not even I would ever have contemplated something so tasteless!"

"I know, my darling, I'm just winding you up."

She grinned. "I know! And I'm loving it."

"I just want you to keep in mind we _can_ always temporize and marry in February."

"It may not be your express aim, but you're giving me the impression you're not half as keen on marrying me as vice versa!"

"Au contraire, my dearest darling. I'm just more accustomed to wait for you."

She was satisfied with that answer and dragged him along to sit down with her on a bench nearby. With him being as tall as he was, it was so much cosier to cuddle with him while sitting down.

"So how long did you wait, in fact?"

He looked puzzled. "But you know that."

"No, I mean when did you first have the grace to be in love with me?"

He laughed. "I can hardly say... Love hath so long possessed me for your own and made your lordship so familiar."

She gave a little squeal of delighted giddiness. "Give it a try!"

"In that book which is my memory – on the first page, that is the chapter when I first met you – appear the words: Here begins a new life."

She heaved a sigh and squeezed his hands. "That is very pretty. Now be serious, I need to know."

"I reckon it must have been on your sixteenth birthday. You urged me to dance with you, and you laughed, and you beamed, and you whirled around, and I thought I had never seen anything more enchanting."

"Oh, I remember that! You had just returned from the French and Indian War and you looked so very dashing in your uniform and I had set my heart on dancing with a war hero."

"You _are_ a very nonsensical girl."

"Yes, I know. But you love me all the same."

He affected a resigned sigh. "I do."

"Poor you! Now go on, tell me more."

"What would you like to hear then?"

"Everything!"

He played with her fingers. "Well, then there was your father's birthday last year. You had studied some songs on the harpsichord for the occasion and didn't quite succeed the way you had planned –"

"You can just say it like it is, my love. I made a right old mess of it."

"But you were just _so_ _charming_ in your embarrassment!"

"And you tried saving my face by forcing that Lieutenant to play after me and being even worse."

"You knew that?"

"Of course I knew that. And believe me, I was mightily gratified. You've always been so good to me, James. Don't think I hadn't noticed. But then, I was used to people making a fuss about the Governor's daughter, and it took me some time to realise that you weren't just performing some duty when being nice to me."

"I certainly wasn't. I was delighted whenever I could be of service to you."

"I must make a dreadful confession." She bit her lip and crept a little closer to him still. "Once I realised, I took a perverted pleasure in discomfiting you. I knew I could make you lose your thread in mid-sentence."

He laughed out loud. "Now that's charming!"

"Are you sure you really want to marry me? I _am_ a terrible person."

"And now you're fishing for compliments, knowing full well that to me you are creation's crowning glory!"

"Yes, but coming from _you_ , I can't get enough of hearing it."

"I will flatter you some more if you're good."

"I'll be very good, then!"

"Yes, but _can_ you...?"

She chortled merrily. "I'll prove to you how good I can be and then you can no longer make fun of me."

"Oh, but I wasn't joking, my dear."

Oh well, he _was_ joking – his voice gave him away, and she shot him an enamoured smile which he returned very archly. She was still surprised at his sense of humour; she had fallen in love with him without suspecting he had one, but realising that once he dared to relinquish his well-studied pose as _the Commodore,_ he could be downright funny had endeared him to her even more if that was possible.

He was just as surprised by himself, incidentally. He was aware what people said about him; there was praise in abundance, but positively never he had been commended for being much fun. When or why should he have been funny, anyway? And in _her_ presence, he had been even keener to appear dignified. Still, at some point in the past months, he had by some accident discovered his ability to make her laugh, which he considered to be his crowning achievement, because seeing her smile – or snigger – or laugh out loud – was the most bewitching sight he'd ever seen; he couldn't _believe_ he had it in his powers to delight this delightful creature.

Like now, when she was shaking with laughter. "Oh well," she gasped at last, "I reckon you have every reason to suspect me of being very improper. Now please continue."

"Continue with what, my dove?"

"You know that very well!

He laughed. "Why, you _are_ keen to have your vanity flattered."

"Did you ever doubt it?"

"Indeed I did. It always impressed me how entirely without vanity you are even though you must be the most beautiful women I've ever seen."

She blushed prettily. "Nah. You only think that because you're stuck in Port Royal with no more than two dozen nubile girls altogether..."

"See? You're not vain at all. I'll have you know though that I did spend a season in London once, with a multitude of girls spruced up to the high heavens in order to find a husband, and none of them could even compare to you."

"I'm sure you do them wrong, my love. If they didn't appeal to you, it must have been because they were just too busy to keep on breathing. It's those darned corsets, you know?"

"Don't blame the corsets, darling, I saw you in one of those things once and it got me so bewitched I proposed to you in spite of my own better judgment."

"What! You didn't _want_ to ask me for my hand?!"

"Oh, it wasn't a question of wanting or not, I merely knew it was entirely futile."

"Futile!"

"I am a fool for you, Elizabeth, but I am not stupid. I was sure you wouldn't have me."

"How can you be so terribly self-deprecating?"

"My dearest soon-to-be Mrs. Norrington," he muttered fondly, running his finger down her cheek, "what you so charmingly forget is that I never received the smallest encouragement from you. I wasn't being self-deprecating but merely acting with a healthy sense of self-preservation."

She tilted her head against his hand. "It's funny you should say that, because while you may not even have thought of it, I did quite earnestly contemplate to say yes that day – _I_ was certain that you'd ask. I blame those damned books I read. And my father seizing every chance he got to point out to me what a good match you'd be. Anyway, I wasn't about to turn you down."

"You weren't?!"

"No, I don't think so..." She recalled her feelings that day with a pensive look. "If I had been present for an answer, you'd probably have heard me ask for a bit more time though..."

He goggled at her. "But – what about..."

He didn't say the name and Elizabeth felt embarrassed to touch the topic, but thought they'd have to get it out of the way sooner rather than later anyhow. She took a deep breath to brace herself and looked him straight into the eye.

"I quite fancied Will, if that's what you mean, yes. Please note the keyword in this is 'fancy'. He is a very nice boy –"

"And awfully handsome, and –"

She put a finger to his lips. "Please let me say this once and for all, James. I think it is very important for the both of us that you should hear it and believe me – despite all seeming evidence to the contrary, I know, I know! – that he never was a real threat to my affection for you. I _knew_ you, and I could see you were – well – _serious_ about me. Will on the other hand was a bit of a clean slate, I could see in him whatever I pleased, and what's more – he was absolutely unlikely to court me anywhere outside of my own head. If it hadn't been for our time together with Barbossa and Jack, I'd soon have forgotten about him, I am quite sure of that, and would only have thought of him as an old friend and – admittedly handsome – neighbour. But then all those things happened and I was quite overwhelmed by them at the time and swept away by my own excessive imagination."

She licked her lips, finding him listening with utmost attention and not quite as happy as he ought to be, so she stroked his cheek as tenderly as she could until he gave her another little smile and she could proceed.

"You see, there was a time when I believed Romeo and Juliet to be the greatest romance ever written. That's the kind of immature girl you've chosen for yourself, dear sir." She pecked a kiss on his nose. "Two fifteen-year-olds raving about each other without even _knowing_ each other until half the cast is dead, ph! And no matter how hard I squint, you could impossibly be cast for Romeo, you're much too sensible for that. But Will was a kind of blank slate, I could picture him as whatever my fancy dictated – some kind of cross between Romeo and Captain Morgan, I guess. The poor boy never stood a chance, I was dreadful to him terribly practically from the word go and I never had a nice word for him either."

James compared this account to his own tormented visions of darling Elizabeth in the arms of another man, and suddenly felt very charitable for his rival.

"But you seemed so happy!"

She made big eyes. "When was that supposed to have been?"

"All the time! Ever since I came back after the destruction of the Dauntless, you were so much changed."

"But I was crabby the entire time, just ask my father – or Will – or Marleen, or anybody really."

"Crabby! You were amiability personified! I was terribly in love with you when we sailed away, and came back to find you even more charming and instead of being able to get over you I realised I only loved you more and more."

"Oh, but that was only when I was with you. I was only happy when I was with you _because_ I was with you. Mark my words, I was perfectly horrible to everybody else. Now I understand _why_ , too. I was crazy with jealousy at Marleen, and constantly angry with Will, and exasperated with my father for allowing you to be brought away from me, for trying to set me up with Captain Stansfield –"

"What!"

She nodded with mock portentousness. "Indeed. You know my Papa. Once he decides to be a fool, he will go all the way. But while I cannot claim for myself to be a good judge of character, I can at least say I was never interested in him at all."

"That _is_ a sure sign of being a good judge of character, my darling."

She gave a little laugh. "No. I had taken it into my head to set him up with Marleen instead. Now I think even that was only a precaution lest she should set her sights on you. She had always told me what a fabulous match you were, and everybody else seemed determined to bring the two of you together as well. It drove me to distraction, believe me."

"There never – and I mean _never_ – was anyone but you for me, Elizabeth."

"That is all I need to know." She snuggled up to him. "But tell me – if I hadn't thrown myself at you last night, would you ever have tried wooing me again?"

He thought for a minute. "No, I don't think so. And you didn't throw yourself at me, darling."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I cherished your friendship and wouldn't have dared gambling it away by molesting you."

"Molesting! Oh dear! But didn't you see that I was head over heels in love with you?"

"How could I have? According to you, it occurred to _you_ only yesterday afternoon!"

"Yes, but I am silly. You on the other hand are a man of the world!"

"Ha! Seriously, I may be a lot of things, but that I am certainly not. I have no experience whatsoever with the ways and means of young ladies. Or elderly ladies, come to that. And you are _not_ silly."

"Will said it was quite obvious."

"But I bet he said that only in hindsight."

"If you had heard that I had left him – would you _then_ have courted me once more?"

He chuckled gently. "No, of course not. You had made it very clear that you preferred him over me. So, logically speaking, if you loved me less than him, and him less than you thought, that was _lowering_ my chances. I was still trying to come to terms with your last refusal and not going to dare begging for the next." He winked at her and kissed her fingertips. "And as long as I see no wedding ring of mine on your hand, I will not yet stop being prepared for another rejection."

"You can impossibly doubt my sincerity _now_ , can you?" she whispered, leaning her forehead against his temple and caressing his cheek with the tip of her nose.

"Well, I might feel the need to check now and then," he replied under his breath before closing in for a passionate kiss. If he had seriously doubted her sincerity – which he had not, he knew her too well – the way she kissed him now would have convinced him for certain. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed so close to him that she all but sat on his lap, impatiently nestling with his wig to get rid of it so she could run her hands through his hair. Had her father looked out of the window in _this_ moment, he would have ordered every unmarried servant under the age of forty to lock themselves in the opposite side of the house.

"Believe me now?" she at last panted breathlessly, sinking against him and burying her face on his shoulder. He could only moan his acclaim and tighten his embrace since he didn't have the breath for anything else.

She still played with his hair, revelling in its silkiness. "You know that it took me nursing you to remember the colour of your hair? And such a beautiful colour it is!"

"I'm afraid the wig is mandatory."

"For Commodore Norrington, yes. But I hope the husband of Mrs. Norrington will make an exception."

"That can easily be arranged, I'm sure."

"Excellent!"

"I take it you don't like the wig?"

"You're hardly visible under it. When you were lying in my bed without it, without your uniform and your hat – I think that was the first time I ever realised what a terrifically handsome man you are."

"Stop it, you're making me blush!"

"But you are! Now don't get me wrong, you look very good in your uniform, too – it's just… I don't think I've ever actually _seen_ you underneath all the brocade and the wig and the hat… In your regalia, you are the Commodore, but without it, you are James, you see?"

He was silent for a minute, a soft smile playing around his lips before murmuring, "Although I'm afraid I am both, my dearest…"

"Yes!" She beamed and flashed her most brilliant smile at him. "You _are_ both! You're the famous Commodore Norrington, the honourable hero of the Caribbean, the scourge of piracy and pride of the Royal Navy. A husband to admire and be proud of. And in private you're James, _my James_ , gentle and sweet and attentive and hilarious, a man to inspire pure devotion and desire and feel at perfect ease with, and I am the only one felicitous enough to know you both."

He kissed her hand in great animation, unable to speak. Nobody in the last fifteen years had ever seen him fully, and even before that… He had always been Lord Alfred's younger son, or Lieutenant Norrington, the mildly annoying upstart bossing men twice his age around, or the Captain, or the Commodore. He had never met anyone interested in anything else than his mere function. In time he had forgotten that there was more to him than these parts. When he had fallen in love with Elizabeth, he had meant the only way to impress her, to make her love him, too, would be his great successes, his perfect pose, his flawless attitude. By making her want to be the wife of Commodore Norrington. Not for the world would he ever have imagined that she could wish to be Mrs. _James_ Norrington!

He tried to pull himself together, but of course watching him as closely as only a newly enamoured lover could, Elizabeth saw his agitation.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked anxiously.

He pressed her hand to his chest. "Not at all. In fact you said something very touching."

"Did I?"

"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are... I'll get rid of the wig, shall I?"

She made big eyes. "But can you do that?"

"I know most Navy regulations by heart, yet off the cuff I cannot think of any rule or law that actually prescribes it. And even if there was such a rule – it's so easy to ruin or lose the darned things, and yet they're so fiendishly difficult to procure..."

She laughed. "You'd do that for me?"

"There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

With her free hand, she caressed his cheek. "When was the last time I told you that you are, without any competition, the most wonderful man in the whole wide world?"

"Well, that's easy, if there is no competition. In a field of one, one must try hard not to come out the winner."

She chuckled softly, running her finger along his jaw, over his lips, down his throat, and whispered eventually, "You can twist and turn my words as much as you please, but that doesn't change a thing. You _are_ absolutely wonderful, you are brilliant and smart and courageous, and the kindest person I've ever met. There really is only one drawback in becoming your wife."

"Only one? That's good. Really only one? Tell me about it, perhaps I can vanquish it as easily as the wig."

She smirked sadly. "I'm afraid you can't."

"But what is it?"

"You'll be away so often!"

"Even that can be remedied without difficulty. If we aren't going into battle, the wife of the commander can live on board. Even though I'm not sure how recommendable that is, but then you know how it is to live on a ship..."

"I should like that, I loved living on the Dauntless..."

He beamed at her. What a splendid idea – to think that she should always – well, very nearly always – be with him. "That's settled, then!"

"But even so – you _will_ go into battle. You will be combating other villains such as that Friday. And I'll have to stay back home, frightened to death whether I shall ever see you again."

He couldn't argue with that; he _would_ be forced to leave her alone now and then, he _would_ fight pirates, and there was no guarantee that he'd win.

"I know it is your profession, and a most excellent profession it is, too. But you know how selfish I am, I just cannot stand the idea of losing you! When they brought you back then, more dead than alive, or when you were after Friday – it was sheer agony for me to fear I had lost you; I knew I'd never have been happy again!"

How could he answer that heartfelt plea! It pained him to think he caused her any misery, any misery at all. Hoarsely, he whispered, "When the Dauntless exploded, my last conscious thoughts were of you, Elizabeth – and I survived. When Stansfield mentioned you, I felt twice as strong fighting him. When Friday tried to snatch your ring from me, I managed to overwhelm him even though I had already resigned. So the way I see it, as long as I have you to return to, I always will."

Tears glistened in her eyes as she cupped his cheeks in her hands. She bit her lip, like she always did when she was insecure or fearful – she had no idea how well he knew her face, all her little movements and gestures. She gazed at him for a minute or two in silence, then kissed him deeply.

When their lips parted at last, he whispered, "You must not worry, my darling Elizabeth. I shall resign my commission and –"

"No!" she cried. "No way! You love going to sea!"

"But I love you so infinitely much more."

"And I love you and therefore I could never allow you to do that."

"I'll have to resign sooner or later anyhow, and what difference does it make if I do it now?"

"You'll only have to resign when you're an Admiral and no longer need a wig because your hair is white anyway. And until then I will be brave and cherish to be such an admirable man's wife. Also, on a second thought, I find I have little reason to worry. Your reputation alone is enough to keep criminals away, from British Virgin to St. George's. And has there ever been a better sailor than my future husband? A more courageous fighter, a smarter commander or more brilliant tactician? I think not. So you see, you are quite safe and so is my piece of mind."

"I thank you for your trust in me, but there are ample of better sailors than me –"

"But never one so modest! Am I not simply the luckiest girl in the world to marry such a paragon of virtues, the most perfect gentleman to walk upon this earth or sail its waters?"

He found her smiling at him with no more trace of apprehension, and she said with emphasis, "I mean it, James. I cannot promise that I won't be complaining whenever you have to leave me, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It's – it's... Look, you wouldn't ask me to never have your children only because women can die in child-birth."

He looked at her in alarm, and she shook her head. "I'm really not that good in choosing my words, am I? What I meant to say is – well, life _is_ dangerous. One's got to deal with that, it must not stop one from living it to the full. It's like in that book you once gave to me – while we live here, there is no such thing as perpetual tranquillity of mind, because life itself is but motion and can never be without desire nor without fear, no more than without sense."

"Good heavens, you still remember that?"

She chuckled. "Of course not. Back then I thought it was a book on sea monsters and felt awfully let down, that's about all I recalled. But I read it again when you were away, hunting Friday. It somehow made me feel closer to you."

He was deeply touched and she entwined her fingers with his, both silent for a minute. At last, he shook his head. "What an idiot I am."

"I beg to differ!"

"No, seriously! What kind of ass gives a ten-year-old the Leviathan to read?"

"I think it's kind of sweet. You always believed in me, no matter how childish I was."

"You weren't childish but childlike, which is perfectly natural for a child, by the way. I was, in my own defence, very struck by your cleverness though even when you were a little girl still, and eager to see how you'd turn out."

She cast him a sceptic smirk. "But I'm not very clever."

"Oh, but you are. It's one of the things I love so much about you."

"Marleen, _she's_ clever –"

"Miss van Dyke is erudite, that's not quite the same. I'm not saying she wasn't intelligent, but she lacks your spiritedness, your imagination. You were always so keen to learn and explore, and – now please don't get me wrong, you know how fond I am of your father, but I found it hard to see that all he seemed to have in mind for you was becoming a lady of society."

"Well, I think we can safely say he failed miserably on that head."

"I'm very glad he didn't succeed."

"It's one thing for me to say I'm not a lady, mister, but you really don't have to agree _so_ readily."

He sniggered. "You mistake me, my love. You are a lady, but you're also much, much more than merely that."

* * *

But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night. – Milton

The Path to paradise begins in hell... – Dante

Love hath so long possessed me for his own | And made his lordship so familiar. – Dante

In that book which is | My memory | On the first page | That is the chapter when | I first met you | Appear the words | Here begins a new life. – Dante

Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are... Machiavelli


	25. A Happy Ending

**A Happy Ending**

* * *

 _Oh happiness! our being's end and aim!_  
 _Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content! whate'er thy name;_  
 _That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh,_  
 _For which we bear to live, or dare to die._

 _ALEXANDER POPE_

* * *

That last week in December saw an uncommon amount of happiness all around. The denizens of Port Royal had the pleasant task to prepare a grand, a very grand wedding, which meant plentiful earnings for all kinds of craftsmen and grocers, and cheerful children looking forward to lots and lots of cake.

At first though the public astonishment couldn't have been greater with the mere _announcement_ – there hadn't been a child not knowing that the Governor's daughter had broken off their engagement last summer for the sake of Mr. Brown's apprentice. The usual gossip mills had made the best of it and were even more eager to continue spinning the tale now.

Some said young Mr. Turner had got fed up with his bride's extravagances, so in order to avoid scandal she had been obliged to humbly slink back to her former fiancé. Others claimed as certain knowledge that the Governor had forced his daughter to accept the Commodore after all by threatening to disinherit her. Then there was the party of Mr. Fielding, the haberdasher with the panoramic view, asserting that the two young people had simply succumbed to bouts of passion, and a few very fanciful souls imagined that the whole engagement to Mr. Turner had been nothing but a cunning ploy because the Commodore must have suspected his deputy Captain Stansfield all along and wished to keep his beloved safe from harm by pretending he no longer cared about her.

The other announcement of a betrothal having taken place didn't cause quite the same stir; its protagonists weren't as exposed public figures as the head of the fort and the Governor's daughter, so they didn't incite the same amount of tittle-tattle. Among their own friends however, both received as many mocking remarks as heartfelt congratulations. Being his outspoken self, Lieutenant Groves had more than once mentioned among his fellow soldiers his avowed wish that the Commodore should woo the merchant's lovely daughter and Miss van Dyke had never made a secret out of her disinclination to marry a seafaring man.

Marleen van Dyke was ready to also eat every word she had ever uttered upon the advisability of a lack of emotion when entering conjugal life because she could not possibly have been more attached to her suitor whom she regarded to be the epitome of manly virtues such as courage, loyalty, modesty and sense. Even though he wasn't rich – yet! – not even her parents had any objections; they were too glad to see their daughter as happy as she was, and rich enough to bestow her with a dowry that would enable her to miss no comfort even if (unlikely as this was) the young man never earned another pound.

Then there was Governor Swann, who had almost given up hope to see his daughter thoroughly happy and content, and who had the additional comfort in having her stay close-by and not, as she had so recently announced, going back to England instead.

He hardly recognised his child. She might be romping around the gardens with no thought of impressionable servants accidentally spotting her kissing her fiancé, but otherwise her public demeanour left nothing to be desired anymore. The bride of Commodore Norrington was propriety itself all of a sudden, choosing her words with care, doing charitable work in the hospital and elsewhere, and overall giving the impression that she was nothing if not modest, demure and circumspect. What his upbringing and a string of increasingly desperate governesses had never managed, her lover had accomplished without so much as trying, by instilling in her an earnest admiration and desire to live up to his good opinion of her.

Even Captain Jack Sparrow – note the title – was smugly happy, for once because won his ten pounds back, but even more because he was the kind of man who enjoyed to say 'I told you so'.

There was but one poor soul that couldn't share any such happy feeling, which was of course Will Turner's. His love for the lady had been as ardent and deep as the Commodore's; he was too passionate and too young to possess that one's countenance when facing the same heart-break, but at least the same youth made it likely that he would in time get over such loss.

He didn't have to endure witnessing his beloved's supreme happiness, as he left town only two days later on board of a merchant vessel taking him to Nassau, where he met and signed on the Black Pearl, but to make it short – he was to find true love some years later in a sailor's daughter, who let him forget the woes of a broken heart, and until that, he was rather busy to handle his captain's drunken brilliance that bordered on sheer madness so often.

Reverend Martin joined the Commodore's and Miss Elizabeth Swann's hands on the scheduled day, making her Mrs. James Norrington and him the happiest man in the world. Whatever the public verdict might initially have been, as soon as spotting the happy couple before the altar there was no doubt left for even the most suspicious observers that theirs was a marriage for love.

The focus instantly shifted to the question how much the spectacular bride gown (which was a stunning affair of silk and delicate lace and approximately ten petticoats) must have cost and whether it had been fabricated in Paris or in London. After this had been settled (with a majority patriotically putting their shirts on London), it was estimated how much money would be among those two and what the odds were regarding the Commodore's chances to inherit his father's title. Since everybody already knew about the rings (two plain golden bands inscribed 'Ruth 1:16-17'*) because they had been crafted by the local goldsmith, some very keen gamblers tried betting on the wedding menu, but all bets had to be called off as Mrs. Peacock freely told anybody who would listen what she had planned anyway.

The Reverend couldn't bridle himself not to put some special emphasis on the steadiness which conjugal life necessarily required, making the groom smile, the father of the bride turn crimson under his powdered wig, and the greatest part of the congregation snigger. Only the bride completely missed the joke, anxiously waiting for the moment to say 'I do' and scared to miss it. As always resolved to listen attentively to the priest, and as always failing, she had spent most of the ceremony so far with silent prayers and holy oaths, pledging to show herself worthy of such mercy as had been bestowed on her in spite of all her faults, and to better herself and follow her husband's example.

Beside her, the groom had some difficulties of his own. As long as he could think back, he had always been able to rely on his perfect countenance, and never felt the urge to cry (neither for Lord Alfred's son nor for a soldier, tears would have been in any way acceptable). In this moment, however, it was all he could do not to burst into tears, so deeply was he affected by the time-honoured ceremony, so moved by the occasion as such, so stirred by the contemplation of its consequence. Every now and then he stole a glance of his bride under her veil, and was almost glad that he couldn't quite see her through it, for the sight of that beloved face in this moment would surely have overwhelmed him after all.

And then came the great, long-awaited moment to speak at last, and put on the rings. Ready to sink with agitation and taking a deep breath, he pulled back the veil and found her beaming at him beatifically. Her big hazel eyes locked with his, making him forget anything else. He nearly missed his cue for saying 'I will' even, with only his preposterously long name giving him a chance to wake up in time.

"James Alfred Enoch Augustus William Charles Edmund Makepeace Norrington, will you take Elizabeth to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will" he managed to croak and cleared his throat, repeating, "I will."

"Mary Elizabeth Charlotte Swann, will you take James to be your husband?"

"I will!" she ejaculated prematurely, reaping another round of laughs which drove the colour to her cheeks.

The priest, too, stifled a grin and went on, "Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

Clearly wondering whether she was allowed to speak up _now_ and swaying dangerously, she whispered, "I will."

James, without consciously registering, reached out and snatched her hands to support her as much as steady himself, so hypnotised by her eloquent gaze that he scarcely noticed the congregation breaking into another song.

"James and Elizabeth, I now invite you to join hands – ah, I see you're ahead of me there –" This got a couple of loud chortles from the back rows, but unperturbedly, the Reverend went on, "and make your vows, in the presence of God and his people."

The bridegroom inhaled deeply and squeezed her hands. Oh Lord, if only he would remember all the words!

"I, James, take you, Elizabeth, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow."

She gave him an incomparable smile before commencing, "I, Elizabeth, take you, James, to be my beloved husband, to have and to hold from this moment forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law." She swiftly cast her eyes to the cross and went on, "In the presence of God I make this vow."

A pause followed at this juncture as Reverend Martin had to cough and gesture a good deal before he could catch the attention of the little boy in charge of the cushion with the rings (fortunately the slowcoach happened to be the vicar's own grandson, or the child might have been disqualified from the job in the future).

"Heavenly Father, by your blessing let these rings be to James and Elizabeth a symbol of unending love and faithfulness, to remind them of the vow and covenant which they have made this day through Jesus Christ our Lord."

James tremblingly took the smaller ring and placed it on his bride's equally shaking finger. "Elizabeth, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit."

She did the same and spoke the same vow so quietly that scarcely anybody but James and the smiling priest could hear her.

"Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder," Reverend Martin intoned solemnly, and to herself Elizabeth thought, 'Let them try, I'll scratch their eyes out!'

The Anglican Church of England didn't usually intend for the newly-wed couple to kiss; but in a place like Port Royal, intersection of so many influences from so many cultures and thousands of miles away from Canterbury, the textbook of prayers wasn't taken quite as strictly as elsewhere. _Everybody_ took delight in seeing the bride people kiss, most of all the Reverend, so now he prompted with some satisfaction, "You may now kiss the bride!"

And that was what James did; with their eyes fixed and their hands entwined, he bowed down to kiss his beloved Elizabeth. When his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and devoted herself to him and his kisses completely. _He_ luckily still possessed enough presence of mind to part again after some seconds, for had it been only up to her, they would have stayed like that for the next hours to come. Slightly guilty, she turned her gaze to the ceiling and promised the Lord once more that she'd be a good girl from now on and that nothing but propriety should guide her.

"Blessed are you, O Lord our God, for you have created joy and gladness, pleasure and delight, love, peace and fellowship. Pour out the abundance of your blessing upon James and Elizabeth in their new life together, let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts and a crown upon their heads. Bless them in their work and in their companionship; awake and asleep, in joy and in sorrow, in life and in death."

"I love you," James mouthed, taking delight in the blushes he could incite by such a plain statement of facts.

"And I love you," she said under her breath, squeezing his hand which she still clang to even harder.

What else can be said about the day of their wedding? First came the reception, next came the feast, both taking place in the Governor's house. These were followed by the only thing that Governor Swann's otherwise so gratified frame of mind couldn't thoroughly rejoice in – to part with his dear child, as she mounted the carriage together with her husband to set off for her new home.

Within the walls of the fortress there was a separate domicil built for the head of the fort, which had been vacant for many years because as a bachelor the Commodore had regarded it a matter of course to share the officers' quarters. The little house had been renovated and richly furnished half a year ago due to his first engagement; it had only taken some dust-wiping to get it ready, as he had never bothered to undo the former preparations, thinking that he could just as well leave them in place for one of his future successors more blessed in matters of the heart than he had been at the time.

He guided her around her new home and asked a little nervously, "So, Mrs. Norrington, how do you like it?"

"Say that again!"

He knew very well what she wanted to hear, but was determined to tease her. "Well, how do you like it?"

"No, the other bit!"

"Tell me how you like it and you shall hear me say it as often as you please, my dearest Elizabeth."

"I like it excessively much! What good taste you've got! I had been ready to make do with Spartan quarters and berths instead of beds. Now say it, please!"

"Berths instead of beds?" He grinned at her and received a little push for his impertinence. "Very well, Mrs. Norrington, you shall have your will. I am, as always, at your command."

She bit her lip in delight. "Say it again!"

"Please, Mrs. Norrington, give me any order you like and I shall not rest until I have satisfied it."

"Once more!"

He chuckled. "Mrs. Norrington, I am very pleased that you relish your new name so much."

"I love it, it has such a fabulous ring to it!"

"I will forward your compliments in my next letter to my father, Mrs. Norrington. Now be very honest with me – is there even the slightest chance that I should be allowed to call you Elizabeth again in the foreseeable future? Because it is a name _I_ am particularly fond of."

"And that coming from one who insisted on calling me Miss Swann instead only to annoy me!"

"But only to your face and most assuredly not to annoy you. In my mind and in my heart you have never been anything but 'my mostly beloved Elizabeth'. I simply couldn't trust myself to say it out loud for fear of letting show how ardently I love you."

She jumped at him for that confession and kissed him with all the passion unfit for public display. He lifted her off her feet and whirled her around, their lips never parting, until they both toppled against a very inconveniently placed table and caught their breath, laughing.

"So, what are your wishes now, Mrs. Norrington?"

The question had been innocently meant, but seeing her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink, he realised that she hadn't taken it that way. It wasn't as if he wasn't just as nervy as his thirteen years younger wife about what was to come, but he realised it was up to him this way or that.

Summoning all his courage, he put on an impish expression and asked, "You haven't seen the attics yet, and I still owe you proof that I haven't made you mistress of a house having berths for beds –"

She cast down her eyes for feeling so wickedly wanton when answering, "I think a survey of the attics would require better light, don't you?"

"You are of course absolutely right, Mrs. Norrington, as always." He pulled her towards him and made her settle her arms around his neck, kissed the tip of her nose and scooped her up. "So please allow me to show you the rest of the house, then."

Trembling, she buried her face in the arch between his neck and shoulder as he slowly and carefully carried her up to the first floor.

Both the Commodore and his wife held their privacy sacred, so no further account of their wedding night shall be given at this point (for the particularly nosy, however, the annex will have some more to say on that head). Only so much – bride and bridegroom found the beds very suitable, the former permitted the latter to call her Elizabeth without any more ado and was enraptured to see him without uniform, and not even the Commodore's meticulous sense of duty could have tempted him to leave the bedroom again within the next couple of days.

Lieutenant Groves represented him with the usual excellence; he himself was allowed to see his fair bride before the altar around Easter just when Admiral Thompson had promoted him to become Captain. The two young couples remained as attached to each other as their old friendships had warranted, Governor Swann lived long enough to see his three grandchildren James, Mary and Elizabeth be born and grow up, before he deceased at the admirable age of seventy-eight years.

Commodore Norrington became Rear Admiral Norrington only two, Vice Admiral Norrington four and Admiral Norrington seven years later before he retired at forty-four. The whole family returned to England then, where the children were to attend school, and their parents gladly exchanged the tropical sun for the Southern English gentle drizzle.

They were followed by the Groveses five years later, who had four children on total and to their mother's delight daughters only, who had learnt to accept her husband going to sea, but who could never have tolerated one of her own children facing the perils of a Navy career.

Only one thing remains to be said, and this concerns the tempers of the two protagonists. Under his wife's influence, James Norrington gradually thawed to become a man not only praised for his brilliance and conduct, but also his warmth and humour. And Elizabeth, although she often violated her home-made oaths, reforming and resetting them on a regular basis, grew up to be a perfectly affable woman, a caring and responsible mother, a devoted wife, a true role-model for the townspeople as she continued to work in the hospital and altogether tried to be as helpful and conscientious as she could, leaving nothing to be desired for even such a sharp observer as Captain Groves, while staying as lively as she had ever been.

As happy endings go, this particular one couldn't be more boring, but also less common, for who can claim for themselves to have led a life of decency, virtue, utter domestic felicity and every other happy circumstance?

* * *

THE END

* * *

* And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.

* * *

 **Author's note:** giving the lie to my own claim "The End", I should mention that there _will_ be one more chapter, the already announced "Annex", detailing the happy couple's wedding night, which didn't seem to fit into the general tone of the story.

And having said that, I would also like to seize the opportunity and send some very happy greetings to everyone reading this. I am so taken by this statistics-by-country function, informing me that there are a handful of readers from such far-flung places like Peru, Pakistan and Iceland - hello there! I am so happy you should have stumbled over this story and hope you like it.


	26. Annex

**Annex**

* * *

 _Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always._

 _DANTE_

* * *

What does it say about the interested reader – and it is to be assumed that you are an interested reader if you have come so far – that they thirst so much for salacious details as to even read the Annex, which (like the foreword) hardly anyone ever opens voluntarily?

Oh well, let this question be pondered by other authors while we continue, as promised, with the juicy bits. To recapture as quickly as possible: The story left off the hero carrying the heroine upstairs on the evening of their wedding. Which is an inherently interesting situation, but not exactly full of suspense – does anybody really presume they retired to their bedroom, had a cup of tea and went to sleep?

Of course they didn't. To the nuptial bower he led her blushing like the morn; both putting on their bravest faces, yet failing to quite disguise how much they fretted about what was to come. The groom had only a very vague idea what might be expected of him and dreaded to disappoint; the bride on the other hand had been given conflicting intelligence by Sarah and Mrs. Peacock acting in her mother's stead. One after the other they had felt obliged to sit her down the previous night and give her some pointers, with Sarah taking the lead and informing her about the so-called conjugal duties, making the whole thing sound rather appalling and putting particular emphasis on the pain of 'defloration', as Elizabeth's novels would phrase it.

Mrs Peacock had found her in wide-eyed horror half an hour later and scoffed at the young maid's tales. "Don't you listen to _her_ , Miss Swann," the elderly lady had insisted, "what does _she_ know! She's got all that from her own mother and she only told her that so she wouldn't step out with the Fairchilds' young gardener."

Mrs. Peacock had proceeded to assuage her worries, averred that the pain was only brief and not that bad to begin with, that she herself had always been very happy with the late Mr. Peacock ('bless him!') and that, if nothing else, Miss Swann could always rely on her excellent husband to never harm her, couldn't she?

Whatever their fears of the wedding night, they soon faced more immediate problems. The staircase wasn't designed for carrying up a person crosswise and the groom's gallant attempts not to bump the bride's head on the wall got his sword stuck in the banister instead and the hem of her skirts got snagged more than once, too. Also she lost a shoe. Then there was the difficulty of opening the bedroom door without using his hands, and getting the both of them (and most of all, ten very stiff petticoats) through that door without injuring either her or himself. As unromantic as this may sound, it at least got the bashful bridal couple sidetracked; they were both still laughing when he put her back down on her feet.

"Well, at least I didn't drop you," he commented drily while taking off the darned sword.

"Not for a minute did I ever think you would!"

"What a beginning!"

"Why, it is a perfect metaphor for matrimony, don't you think? Together we struggled through adversity and neither crashed nor tumbled."

He gave her a very loving look for that remark. "How true!"

"Now for your promise..."

"Which promise would that be, Mrs. Norrington?"

"You promised me the wig would go."

"Oh! Yes, of course! How could I forget?"

He lifted his arms to take his hat off, but she was quicker, halting his hands and pushing them down. She let her own hands glide up his chest, caress his chin and cheek, and very carefully removed his hat first, his wig next, ran her fingers through his hair with relish, all the while gazing up at him with shining eyes. Her forefinger traced his face as her hands glided down to his neck and played with his cravat, waiting for his say-so with bated breath.

He gave it just as wordlessly; his throat would have been too dry to speak anyhow. She commenced unbinding his cravat, and once she had accomplished that, she went on to unbutton his waistcoat just as nimbly.

"There you go," she said shyly. "That's better, isn't it?"

He could only nod, he was too excited for anything else. She stepped back with a little helpless smile, and he instinctively followed, snatching her hands and putting them back on the lapels of his coat.

"I believe you weren't too happy with the uniform either," he murmured hoarsely.

An impish grin flew over her face. "Oh, it is terribly elegant," she replied while slowly pushing his coat over his shoulders. "But as I recall I was very taken to see you without it..."

The terribly elegant blue coat fell to the floor and was never again thought of, a fate shared by its brother, the brocade waistcoat. Her eyes never left his when she ran her hands over the front of his shirt after all, ostentatiously smoothing the creases but in fact thrilled beyond words to feel his firm chest and stomach underneath. For four days and nights had she bathed and stroked his torso (it should perhaps be pointed out at this juncture that it had fallen on Scott, the butler, to wash – _other_ – parts during that time, with the lady of the house modestly leaving the room for a minute or two) and while it had amazed her even then, no actually lewd thought had ever crossed her mind. The situation was quite reversed now, because as decently dressed as he still was in his shirtsleeves, her pulse palpably quickened with the sensation of feeling his hot body underneath.

It was all he could do not to shake under her touch, and as gentle as she had been, he began to loosen the veil fastened in her artful hairdo and unravel the curls piled up on her head with countless bodkins. How silky her hair was! He thought he had never touched anything so soft.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his roaming fingers running through her hair. "Oh James..." she purred, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Are you as happy as I am?"

"I wouldn't have believed it possible to feel such an amount of happiness and not come apart at the seams, my darling..."

A sweet smile spread on her features. "Talking of seams – I think this dress cannot be saved. Perhaps..."

"Would you like me to..."

"You will have to."

He didn't grasp her meaning at once, thinking she meant it was his husbandly prerogative to undress her or something along the lines, only to find that she was being absolutely literal. Some parts of the dress had been _sewn around_ his bride. Whoever would _do_ such a thing? In the end, he had to tear open some seams only to free her of the first layer of silk, and he reckoned there were about ten or twenty more to come.

Tongue in cheek, he remarked, "Protecting a lady's virtue is all very well, but seriously – in her _wedding night_?!"

She chortled. "The rest won't be as difficult."

Little did she know. She was possibly used to all this, her bodice in particular, which had some semblance to a piece of armour and was just as steadfast. She laughed some more when hearing him profess his opinion on that subject, and putting his hands in the small of her back, she turned around.

"Aha," he exclaimed. "Laces. I think I can just about handle laces."

Oh well, these weren't ordinary laces; they gave as good as they got, but after some minutes of frustratingly thwarted efforts, he had got her out of the darned thing at last.

He discarded it carelessly, swung his arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder. She grabbed his hands and squeezed them, leaning into the embrace and bending her head over as far as she could to give him more room to kiss her neck.

If he had been astounded by the softness of her hair, the softness of her skin literally stunned him. Sweet scents of lilies of the valley and honey and cinnamon and roses engulfed him, incensing his mind, and with one swift move he whirled her around to face him again so he could kiss her lips.

Elizabeth wasn't any less excited than her husband, so much so that she even forgot that not twenty minutes ago she had still been ready to sink into the ground with shame. Impatiently she nestled with his shirt, unbuttoning it as far as she could, pulling it out of his breeches, and since she couldn't both continue to kiss him and get finally rid of the shirt, she grabbed its front with both her hands and pulled with all her might.

It gave way with the characteristic sound of tearing linen and some frantic movements later she had pulled it off him completely. She let her hands glide over his chest which, even if she had no real comparison, in her mind could only be equalled by Greek gods in its noble proportions, to explore his bare skin. Oh how soft it was, and how electrifying to feel his muscle tone under her probing fingers! She only broke away from their kiss in order to continue her reconnaissance mission with her lips.

She hadn't come far before giving a little shriek though. Shocked, she stared at the fresh pink scars that hadn't been there when she had last seen him in such a state of undress, one running down his sternum, the other along his left shoulder to his collarbone.

He quickly scooped her chin and made her look up at him. "Shhh, my love, you shouldn't have seen that, I'm sorry!"

"Is that..."

He nodded, deeply concerned, and she wondered how she could make him understand that she wasn't repulsed by the scars, not at all, merely apprehensive not to upset the wounds.

"Does it still hurt?"

"It never did hurt much. A clean cut with a sharp blade usually doesn't."

She tentatively ran her finger along his breast, then brushed another trail of little kisses there, before placing a particularly gentle kiss on the top of the scar itself.

"It doesn't hurt when I touch it?" she whispered.

"No. Quite the opposite..."

"That's good..." And with all the tenderness she had for him, she kissed the scar for real, only stopping when hearing him quietly moan.

"So it does hurt!"

"No, my love, it's just – just – _wonderful_..."

She smiled against his skin and went on, covering every inch of his chest with her lips while he ran his fingers through her hair. She came across his nipples and his sighs deepened, encouraging her even more. Gazing up to his face, she saw that he had shut his eyes and wore an other-wordly smile. It was enough to strengthen her courage, so she took his hands and cautiously steered him over to the large four-poster-bed where she made him lie down so she could kneel over him and continue as before without being restricted by his height. In turns she kissed his lips, his throat, his chest and his stomach, egged on by his increasingly louder sighs and moans.

"Oh Elizabeth," he gasped bewilderedly, "my dearest darling Elizabeth..."

And she was _still_ wearing a disproportionate number of heavily starched petticoats, which would have to be taken off one by one before he could even think of getting down to her underwear.

For a start, he seized her close to kiss her, then rolled around until she was lying on her back. With her delighted permission he began to unwrap her out of her many, many underskirts; she helped him as good as she could, laughing with pleasure whenever he had vanquished another and rewarding him with deep, long kisses. And then he was down to her slip and stockings, and suddenly as diffident as a fifteen-year-old. Outside of paintings he had never seen a naked woman, and he wasn't at all sure how well his composure would hold up being confronted with the most beautiful, the most real woman there ever had been and ever could be, his newlywed wife.

She noticed his discomfiture and while she wasn't any less timid than he, she was too much in love with him to idly stand by when he was clearly in need of wifely support.

She ushered him to kneel before her, then pulled up the hem of her slip until it revealed her knees. She reached out for his hands and put them on the hem of her left stocking, and placing her hands on top of his, she gently made him pull it off, inch by inch. The poor man looked stupefied, his eyes glazed over, and when the stocking was gone, he lifted her bare calf to his face and kissed her knee.

She quivered, all the more when he covered the rest of her calf and foot in kisses. He needed no more help with the second. This time, he kissed her as he went along pushing the fabric down, and now it was she who made small mewling noises of pleasure, which got louder and louder when he kissed his way back up, not stopping at her knee however, but pushing the hem of her slip little by little until half of his head was hidden by it, his lips trailing along the inside of her thighs... Elizabeth was sure she should melt away, feeling his forehead pushing against parts of her anatomy that she had no name for, followed by his nose; she spread her legs as far as she could and then she finally felt his lips on her – _lips_ , for want of a better word – and she cried out for the first – but definitely not last – time.

Oh, how he kissed her! He kissed her there like he kissed her mouth, only even more keenly if that was even possible, not only with his lips but also making use of his tongue. He sucked on her; she could feel his tongue dipping into her, circling her, exploring and imploring her, and she arched her back to be as close to him as she possibly could, panting his name with every move her made.

He didn't stop. Feeling the love of his life writhing under his lips and hands, her body arching against him and gyrating to the rhythm of his kisses, hearing her crying out his name with lust – it was the most indescribable experience he'd ever had.

Eventually she turned very tense locking his head between her thighs, and uttered a throaty, drawn-out, almost but not quite plaintive scream – then she suddenly slackened and panting hard, frantically fumbled to uncover his head and pull him up towards her and clasp him in her arms like a drowning person and even though she could scarcely catch her breath she kissed him with a passion that made him swoon.

"Oh James, oh James, oh James, ohhhh _James_ ," she gasped, winding her legs around him to pull him even closer, "Oh _Lord_ , what did you do, oh James, I love you, I love you, I love you, _I love you_ –"

And the famous Commodore James Norrington, who could pride himself to leave – nearly – every battle as the refulgent victor, felt a kind of proud sweet triumph as he had never known before.

Slowly, Elizabeth recovered her breath and looked into his eyes so full of love and wonder, swore how much she loved him, clang to him, kissed him, and his longing for her overwhelmed him completely.

He returned her voracious kisses just as eagerly and let his fingers roam her body, finding the hem of her slip having glided up to her navel, and with some deft moves, he managed to pull it even further up. She raised her arms to help him pull it over her head, and then he saw her fully for the first time and the vision left him staggered.

She was just so beautiful – so desirable – so perfect – at this high moment, ability failed his capacity to describe; there were no words to do her justice. He marvelled at her burgeoning breasts in mute entrancement before daring to hesitantly reach out and touch her.

She was bewildered by his bewilderment. He always looked at her in admiration, but never so wide-eyed, never so stupefied, opening and closing his mouth helplessly as his forefinger lightly traced her collarbones, her bosom and finally ran over her nipple, making them both gasp. Taking heart, his caresses grew more determined; he placed both his hands on her budding breasts and cupped them – gently – firmer – gently again – removing them to once more stare in wonderment.

He bent forth to rest his face on her chest, drinking in her scent greedily, kissing her, rubbing his nose, his entire face against her; he played with her, encircled her sweet pink nipples with his lips and pushed them with his tongue, and once again, she welcomed each move with a sigh, a moan, a gasp, snatching him by his ears and pushing him where he pleased her most.

His arousal, all the time boiling, had grown even more imperative and scarcely aware what he was doing he grinded himself against her thigh for relief. She must have noticed his erection – of course she must, the bulge in his breeches was as plain as the nose in his face ( _far_ plainer, in fact) – and with a curious look and a puckish smile, she reached down and began stroking his hip, and plucking up courage, his crotch. He sharply drew in his breath when she first touched him there and threw back his head, crying when her hand glided inside. She had not expected either such reaction or such peculiar hardness, which touched by her fair tendance gladlier grew. Frustratingly, the small codpiece of his trousers left her little room to manoeuvre, so she made him lie on his back and crouched over him, whispering, "Please James, I'll need a little help with this... How does it open?"

Much easier than any piece of _her_ apparel, thank God, and not a minute later she threw his breeches and stockings away and marvelled speechlessly at the sight. It was so incongruous with the rest of his pale, lean body, so unaccountably fleshy, so seemingly ready-made to be touched and played with, and that was what she did with the wide-eyed fascination of a child receiving a new, unheard-of toy that moreover answered to her blithe ministrations, throbbing of its own accord and straining against her probing fingers. But even more enchanting were her husband's responses. Oh, to see this unflappable man who was always so much in control of himself, who wouldn't bat an eyelid under the fiercest attack, losing his last scraps of composure – his body arched and taut like a bow-string, rambling whimpers falling from his lips – like a man teetering on the brink of insanity.

Which was in fact a rather apt description of his slipping frame of mind; he wouldn't have believed it possible for any human being to feel such boundless pleasure, so intense it bordered on torment and set each nerve ablaze. Her grip on him, now gentle and soft, now firm and demanding, made him feel like being sucked into the vortex of a maelstrom; his left hand clawed at the headrest as if to stay afloat, the other clasped her shoulder desperately, and following a happy notion she took the latter to place it on her bosom, making both of them gasp and driving him out of his mind. The simultaneous sensation of her fingers gliding over his yearning member and her hard nipple pushing against the palm of his hand was too much for even his constraint (and being him, the Commodore was one of the world's leading authorities on the subject of restraint and repression; he could have written books about it).

Elizabeth was _delighted_ with her own doing, stormily kissing him, giggling, and painting his semen across his stomach with her fingers. She settled in his arms at last, half on top of him and arranging their heads so that they could gaze at each other, utterly enthralled until they both succumbed to a light slumber.

Which didn't last for long, of course. When he awoke, he felt her breath tickling his chest, her delectable body pressing against him and gently repositioning so he could press her closer to him, he found that she was awake, too, beaming at him with luminous eyes. He made her crawl further up until she was on top of him, her legs straddling his, her budding breasts pushing against his chest, her hot lap rubbing against his, and his excitement returned with a vengeance.

When she lowered her head to kiss him, he found her strategy much changed. As a matter fact, she simply followed his example, inspired by the way he had kissed her chest and – other parts. She gnawed on his lips, her tongue darting in and out teasing him and when he tried to retaliate, she withdrew _just_ out of his reach, all the while wriggling around and about him and caressing every piece of his skin she could reach.

"You are driving me crazy," he cawed, trying to get hold of her.

" _Good_ ," she replied huskily, brushing some lingering kisses on his temple before nibbling her way down from his earlobe along the side of his throat.

He let her have her evil ways with him until he could take it no more and rolled her around so _he_ could do the same with _her_. Starting with her fingertips, he trailed rows and rows of butterfly-light kisses up her hand, her arm, her shoulder, took his time to feast on her lips and throat, then wandered down to dedicate himself to her bosom with all due consideration, made a short stop for her navel before navigating further south and finding her ready to receive his caresses with even greater enthusiasm.

He was _elated_ by her hums of pleasure, the gasps of excitement, the way her eyes rolled back in her head when he hit the right spot. Some hours earlier, he had sworn to honour her with his body and give her all he was – now he finally grasped the true meaning of that pledge. Parting her tufts of hair with his fingers, he ran his tongue up and down, he probed her folds, her flesh was pulsating hotly against his lips; he found the little nub that had given her so much joy before and dabbed at it with his tongue while his fingers explored the territory further.

"You are – this is – _James!_ " she rasped, "this – this – _this_ –"

 _This_ indeed. Gently sucking on the little bud, he had let his fingertip glide ever so slightly inside her and pulled it out again in ever more quick succession. He was thoroughly puzzled how the anatomy of the act as such was supposed to work, because there was barely room enough for his forefinger, not to mention – _anything_ – else, but he could worry about that later, because for now he had to devote himself to his wife and her very obvious exigency, and that was what he did.

Ready to die of the utter sweetness of this feeling, she thrashed around in helpless ecstasy and had mewled herself hoarse before he was done with her and when she wrapped herself around him at last, languid, breathless, unable to help herself in her desperate need for him, she took great care to position him where she wanted him most.

Remembering her unanticipated smallness, he had a lot of scruples in that regard though and hesitated to advance. She on the other hand seemed perfectly oblivious of the anatomical impossibility; she had swung her legs around his like a vice and pressed her lap against his arousal, wriggling and writhing and enticing him to proceed. The tiny part of his mind still capable of rational thought gave him pause and urged him to whisper, "Elizabeth, please – I don't want to hurt you."

She recalled Sarah's urgent admonitions and Mrs. Peacock's wise assertions, and weighing up the delicious delectation she had felt so far, discarded the former's warnings altogether, gave her husband a yearning kiss and an encouraging smile and declared with conviction, "It is going to be fine, my love."

"But –"

But she was quite certain, too, and also in a state of such excitement that stopping now would surely have been much harder to bear than any jolt of pain could be. Her eyes fixed on his she let her hand glide between them, grabbing his hard member and leading him where his finger had given her such delight. She pushed her hips against him and he entered her for maybe an inch, maybe less – yes, this was definitely bigger than expected – but it also felt incredibly good, it felt as if it _belonged_ , and she gave a thrilled chuckle. His sensitive tip enclosed at this tightest of junctures he was befuddled beyond recall, but there was no mistaking her eagerness so he finally dared the decisive push.

She gave a little yelp; his eyes flew open in alarm, he saw her look as if she was hurt and tried to pull away at once but she surrounded him from all sides and didn't allow him to withdraw.

"Elizabeth," he panted, "I am sorry, I –"

"Never mind," she replied and kissed him deeply. It _had_ hurt, yes, but not nearly as much as she had feared, and the pain quickly subsided.

"But –"

She sealed his mouth with another deep, longing kiss, her arms and legs maintaining their adamant grip on him and not permitting him to escape.

He held very still, on the one hand quite demented by the heavenly sensation of feeling her wrapped so tightly around him in every meaning of the word, but on the other hand deeply troubled to injure her. Then he felt her relax a little, and saw her smile at him, and once more, she began to slowly roll and undulate her hips, pulling him with her whether he wanted or not and using her legs to softly push him upwards.

It wasn't just a chivalrous phrase – her wish _was_ his command and so he very carefully resumed moving inside her, seeing her eyes widen still if that was possible and sucking in great heaps of breath. Her lips formed a perfect O and that was the sound she made, too, digging her fingers into him and pushing her hips against his in a slowly ascending rhythm that drove him out of his senses.

Like two wrestlers locked and wedged in each other and alternately crying out each other's or the Lord's name, they struggled back and forth, up and down, in and out, rolling around and around without ever breaking contact, until once more she was on top of him and raising her upper body pushed onto him with all her might.

She threw back her head in a silent scream, pushed her hips up a little and slammed down once more. He hardly knew what to do, he was out of himself experiencing this absolutely incredible sensation spreading from his loins through every fibre of his body and clouding his vision; her face was contorted with pleasure and lust and pushing himself up on one arm, his lips found her pert pink nipple which was so hard it could have cut glass. The moment he made contact another scream escaped her lips, her pushes became yet more frenzied and so were his sucks.

And if he had thought to be in heaven before, he had just no words for the Elysium he found himself in as they were imparadised in one another's arms when she tightened around him even more, pulling him inside her, milking him, all the while clasping her arms around his head and wailing his name and he couldn't hold himself back any longer either. His free arm locked around her, his lips glued to her, he pushed his hips up as hard and his member into her as deeply as he could, harder yet and deeper still, teetering on the brink of losing his consciousness.

"Elizabeth," he mouthed against her chest when feeling both their bodies slackening at last. He had no breath, no voice for more, but he had to say it all the same. "Elizabeth – thank you – _thank you_ – my love – my Elizabeth –"

She wasn't a bit more eloquent, stammering his name and covering the top of his head with kisses until he slouched back on the cushions and pulled her with him. His lips found hers for another kiss, supposed to convey all their gratefulness, their love and adoration, and most of all, sheer and utter incredulity that _anything_ like _that_ was even possible and not only possible, but that they had accomplished it without either of them knowing what they were actually doing.

"I know I say it all the time and you never once believe me and call me a nonsensical girl, but you _are_ the best, James," she murmured, spent.

Weakly he replied, "Only because you are."

"A nonsensical girl?"

"The _best_ girl – the _only_ girl – _my_ girl..."

They fell asleep for real in the end, exhausted and jubilant, with every thinkable part of their bodies entwined around each other. As neither of them had thought of pulling the curtains the previous night, the sun woke them up in the morning in more or less exactly the same position. Wishing her a good morning by means of a dozen kisses and making up with a dozen more for her protests when he finally disentangled himself, he got up eventually and wrapped a sheet around himself – "like a toga," she commented with a tinkling giggle.

Prudently – or not – he had ordered that no servant was to make any appearance in the house before the afternoon, but knowing what was her due, he quickly went downstairs to procure as much of a breakfast as he could gather in his haste to get back to her. Unaccustomed as he was to such task, and completely unfamiliar with the new house and kitchens, this proved much harder than he had reckoned when thinking that presenting her with a grand breakfast would be just the thing. In the end he rushed back with a tray laden with not much else but a jug of water, some cups of coffee and a handful of biscuits, finding her waiting with wide eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Norrington," he greeted her once more. Only then she seemed to realise that she was very much undressed, primly snatched another sheet to cover herself up and – unbelievably! After all that had happened last night – blushed very prettily.

"Are you hungry, my darling?" he asked and put the tray down beside her before settling on her other side and kissing her forehead.

"Ravenous!"

"In that case allow me to beg your forgiveness right now for the sparseness of this meal. I couldn't even find the tea, let alone anything more nourishing."

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask for your excuse on that head?" she replied, snatching a biscuit and nibbling on it.

"Should you? Why?"

"Well, technically I am the mistress of the house, right? Isn't the mistress of the house responsible for that sort of thing?"

"Is she? I mean – are you? I have no idea."

"Me neither. Oh dear, that's a good start. Not married for one day and already I let my poor husband starve!"

"I assure you I am far from starving, Mrs. Norrington, and as for the first fifteen hours of being married to you – they couldn't have started any more wonderfully, at least from where I'm sitting."

She grinned widely and leaned against him. "Oh, yes! Aren't you glad I made you marry me sooner?" she purred and sipped the – very bad, but at least strong – coffee.

He burst out laughing. "Is that what you did? And here I was thinking we _could_ have been married since last July."

She flushed and nearly choked on the coffee. "James!"

"My darling?"

"Don't tease me so!"

"I thought you liked being teased," he blandished and tickled her cheek. "As a matter of fact, I got the distinct impression you did."

She smiled despite herself. "But not about _that_!"

"So let me tease you about something else then. Let's see..." He traced her jaw with his fingers, her throat, her shoulder until he reached the blanket covering her up. "Is there any particular reason you have wrapped yourself up like a Christmas present?"

"I – but isn't that how it's supposed – I mean..."

He looked at her lovingly. "I'd hoped it might perhaps be for me to unravel...?

She gave a content chuckle. "That would be very ..."

"Impertinent of me?"

"It'd be very _welcome_. I just... I didn't want you to think me – you know..."

"Beautiful? Desirable beyond measure?"

"Licentious was rather the term I had in mind."

"How could you be licentious? You are my _wife_ , I am your husband, we're entitled by both law of God and the land to do as we please."

She smiled. "If that is so, why are _you_ wrapped up like the Caesar himself?"

He grinned back. "That is a good question, to which I will answer that I am just waiting for you to have your breakfast so you can undress me. I find I particularly enjoy you undressing me."

"Oh yes?"

"Hmmm, yes!"

"Why didn't _I_ think of that! Because I like that very much too."

"Undressing me?"

She laughed. "Yes, that, and being in turn undressed by you."

"How excellent that you should think so, because it is a thing I relish just as much. How happy we should think alike on the subject!"

"Very happy indeed! And speaking of happiness..." She put down her cup and snuggled up to him. "I want you to know how very, _very_ happy I am and – I hardly know how to say it, but... Oh James, last night – it was – you were – I should never have dreamt that I could ever feel so – so – to feel so utterly – ' _happy'_ doesn't even cut it – I mean _really_!"

"Dear me, I know what you mean! Nobody ever tells you these things, do they?"

She sniggered. "I think they actually do."

"Yes, but only in such a perfunctory manner. 'Get married, honest wedlock is a glorious thing', like, 'Oh, you should see Kew Gardens, they're wonderful' or 'You ought to try this pastry, it's divine'."

She laughed. "At least I think I now understand such lines as 'I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes'."

"Exactly! Until last night I thought this referred to a dying soldier bedding his head on his wife's skirts – and I wondered what the soldier's wife was doing on the battlefield in the first place."

She laughed even harder and put his hands on the seam of the sheet to pull it away, which he did gladly. Last night he had only seen her in the light of the candles illuminating their bedroom, so perhaps his fresh amazement when seeing her now in the rays of the morning sun may be more understandable. Her skin was just so radiantly rosy, her flesh so firm, her whole body a perfect study; he was overwhelmed by the notion that this glorious woman was truly his.

Gently he reached out for her to make her settle in his arms, an invitation she cheerfully followed by clambering to sit on his lap, her nose touching his before closing in for a very tender kiss.

He had swung his arms around her, drunk by her still lingering scent of flowers and spices, now mixed with the distinct flavours of intercourse, and physical excitement joined the emotional. Now it was his turn to be deeply embarrassed – how impudent to harass her so soon after she had made him so happy, and in broad daylight, too! – but she didn't seem to take offence. In fact, she gave a lustful groan and pressed her lap closer against his and her gentle kisses became more demanding. Neither of them remembered the tray, which shattered on the floor not two minutes later, and when it did, they both just faltered for a second to laugh before continuing.

And that is how it went, and why Lieutenant Groves had to stand in for the Commodore for a whole week, during which the newlyweds barricaded themselves in their bedroom to conquer entirely unheard-of new worlds.

* * *

To the nuptial bower I led her blushing like the morn... – Milton

At this high moment, ability failed my capacity to describe – Dante

And touch'd by her fair tendance, gladlier grew. – Milton

Imparadis'd in one another's arms. – Milton

honest wedlock is a glorious thing. – Pope


End file.
